Beautiful Death

It eats at me
Like a maggot infested corpse.
It feeds off my fears
Which flow like an endless stream or terror.

The more I struggle
The more its pleasure.
It savours my panic, desperation,
Will to live.
Its sadistic nature
Grins at the suffering and agony.

It clings to me,
Sucking me dry
With its teeth sharp
Like daggers.
It pierces, mercilessly
Over and over and over
Never sparing me a moment
To breathe or gasp for air
Or a moment to escape
In the split second
He inhales.

It toys me like a cat
To a mouse.
Beating me back and forth
Just to watch me scamper and scurry for shelter.
Its teeth, like cat’s claws
Pulling and tugging me
Playfully.
Playfully deadly.

The sheet must only be laid after death,
Yet,
It is what kills me.

Silk.
So pure and beautiful
Its divinity takes my breath away
Till I breathe no more.



I lay in my silk casket,
Which like a glass coffin, hides
Its truth within delicate fragileness.

A web entwines my life
Down to its last strings.
The poison that runs through my blood
Feels like a drug drowning sound,
Sight, senses
Till nothing remains but my cold, stiff,
Motionless body.

And all they do is watch.

Their disgusting degenerate looks of
Interest and awe of how
we play God and take life so simply.
Their sick minds of morbidness.
Ha! And they call me the freak.

But I suppose, yes.
Those superior with the gift
Of talons, speed, or sanctuary
Of their size,
Have all the reason to hunt me,
And things of my nature.
And who is to deny instinct?
No one, or rather, no thing.

This time, it’s just my luck
To be the fly.

Carla Dunareanu
4J