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The Scratching

She stares deep with glass-like eyes, far into my spirit. The simple sound of endless scratching begging me to fear it. In the dawn she comes to me, sits down naked on my knees, soft and beautiful is she. And yet I still can hear it.

Far into my spirit.

She reaches deep into her flesh, heart bone her nails meet. The quickened sound of endless scratching down into the meat. Crimson fingers full of gore, wasting down to nothing more, hewn flesh lapping off her core. And yet she still entreats.

Heart bone her nails meet.

She punctures deep into my mind, with every morn we share. The loving sound of endless scratching promises she cares. Her ivory cage alone endures, the meat curled off the only cure, wet marble eyes still allure. And yet my daily task I bare.

With every morn we share.

I bury deep into the grounds, my only loving thing. The silent sound of endless scratching emptiness it brings. A marking cross tied of bones, among the hundreds that have grown, a field that marks the man alone. And yet I pray what dawn may bring.

My only loving thing.

Recommended1 Simily SnapPublished in All Stories, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Horror, Mystery/Thriller, Poetry, Romance