The Cather of Souls // Poem

 I wrote a poem.

It is raw, and might have a feeling that it is unfinished, but I want to leave it like this, cause I kind of like it, even!. And it just came out of nowhere. O.o

*

Sitting on the edge of the milk white porcelain tub,

the bare feet in the murky waters, 

toes smashing through the dirty clothes. 

The woman.

The woman have leaned backwards, 

against the cold and red brick stone wall, 

wearing nothing but a ripped red nightgown,

the flesh flashing and sinking into the eyes of any observator.

Piece of cloth has a large collar, 

around her neck and back of the head. 

The blonde curls are set up into the simple 1940's fashinable set. 

Red lips.

Red lips holding a cigarette between them, 

embracing and cuddling with the steam 

heaving out from between those white bones.

"Come and share the day with me,

as we drink and spread the time,"

she tells me, with this sinister smile.

The rumors.

The rumors are spilled, and chaos starts to evolve.

From the ceilings, last orchestra of Cemetary,

comes and shares the night with us.

"Come and share the night with me,

as we drink and take your soul with greed,"

she sings alongside with the band.

The voices.

The voices and the play,

we all share the same mistakes.

Her spirit flees into the labyrinth of cigarette smoke,

and I try to catch her tender butterfly wings,

that are attatched to the spine,

with cog wheels and buttermilk wine.

The claws of sceletons grab me from behind,

as I run and lost the mind. Please, please, save me from this hell!.

But the lady only laughs on the edge of the tub,

where all the skins of every new victim are held.

"Come, come with us,

to walk on the valley of death."