Mist

I kept trying to write a post that was regular. After six tries I gave up. It seems I am cursed with poetry. Feel free to remind me of why I keep updating by commenting, cultists. :)

Lace curls adorning shadowed buttresses
Gnarled zooform gargoyle grimaces are to me grins
Living my invisible life in the shadowed upper cities
Listening to the city moaning sadly as they kill each other
A furious wind tears through its remains, for once releasing the stench of death
Instead of dying down, the wind grew stronger
The death gasp of some long forgotten god, oh how merciful he must have been.

If this is what you call life, I can't trust your twisted definitions
You pull me closer and push me away like a burning tide
Like the seas of flame outside the dead child's walls
Even the slums are empty, each building's rusted frame standing out like broken teeth,
Shattered ribs scraping the skies so bloodied.

Everything about the shadowed place was supposedly forgotten,
Open up your eyes and look around you, brush the ashes off of your face
This world is gone and dead, but not another
White lilies glissening in the dawn, no sunset after all
Steeping from the metal harbor onto the wood
Egress of the last melancholic, the city is steeped in a mist.