The Politics of Resurrection

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Horror  |  House: Booksie Classic
The transformation process from death-to-life-and back again.

Submitted: April 20, 2007

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 20, 2007



Buried alive, cursed,

earthworm's lairs and wet darkness,

eaten back to life, devoured by devotion,

wave away the swarm of lies, the maggots.

Heavy beats the hellbound heart,

on it's journey, downward spiral,

into depths of fire,

the furnace well stoked with bones.

The blood remembers.

If blood could speak, what tales would it tell?

Ones of coarsing, boiling, pumping? Spattering, splattering.....spewing?

Slice the flesh, it bleeds.

  Blood is truth; life, death. When observed in moonlight, it glistens quite black.

It is a chameleon; a metamorph.

  It lives, breathes, flows, shines. It speaks when interrupted.

It tells many tales.

Blood remembers.

  A living hell on earth; a walking purgatory, a dream/realm, a limbo.

  Sporadic dreams, nightmares, as I become an insomniac of the undead.

The dream police come, shoot my brain full of sleep bullets.

Now I'm dead again. I SLEEP forever.........

© Copyright 2018 doc byron. All rights reserved.

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