Memoir 18th June 2016


Sometimes I feel as if my life was a cigarette. It burns slowly, leaving deep marks on my body. Bruises in my soul. Crack in my soul leaves the barely hearable noise behind.

I don’t smoke anymore. Yet the cigarette still burns.

In a man’s claws

In a sphere of your burned urges

you wake up screaming “more!”

Delirious, needy, sweating heavily,

your mind wanders to the old, good times

when you had it all

A thousand pieces of things that you used

and then left like old rags

So many faces appearing before your hungry eyes

So many bodies captured by your greedy hands

Dirt of their innocence under your fingertips

your hidden claws feasting upon their flesh

sweet taste of their blood in your mouth

their weakness lying on the ground,

weeping in silence

Until the poison in your veins it all becomes


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s