The Ladies of Horror
Picture-Prompt Writing Challenge!
by Lydia Prime
I’ve sat alone for hours, waiting, mostly wasting;
Decomposing slowly in my fleshy mortal casing.
Thoughts still feel as if they drum against my skull,
Not as if it matters as my existence is now null.
I sulk in solemn silence and feel my essence drain;
I haven’t breathed in hours, but I do still feel the pain.
Ironic now, I see it, the crumbling red walls –
The darkness engulfs my body and I hear the Reaper’s calls.
A fire burned inside me, my skin now icy cold;
My memories and secrets; apologies untold.
To my left the rusted register, that once burned as hot as me;
Now frozen in oblivion; strange though, my empathy.
Empathy for something that never felt the fall.
Empathy for something that’s never had it all.
Empathy… or envy? I’m not entirely sure;
Envy seems more likely – envious to my core.
The rats scurry toward my prison – pit pat pit pat pit pat;
Ready to feast upon my carcass, whose pulse has fallen flat.
The floor crumbles away beneath them, decompositional mayhem,
Forsaken and condemned –
The finality is sinking in, the inevitable dead end.
This abandoned land consumes all sickly broken strays,
Enticed by that vacant shell, hiding all its hidden decays.
Now we’re brought together, never again alone;
Forever we will rest, a pile of picked-clean bones.
Fiction © Copyright Lydia Prime
Image courtesy of Pixabay.com
More about Lydia Prime:
Lydia grew up in a small, ‘Mayberry,’ sort of town, in New Jersey. She thoroughly enjoys gummy bears and laughing through the darkest depths of life. More often than not, she writes about demons and monsters, however, being a recovering addict tends to turn inner demons into fearsome foes to be fought beyond the constraints of the mind. ‘Sometimes,’ she states, ‘what’s inside, is scarier than anything reality throws at you.’
Please visit Lydia on Facebook for more info.