mortius

DaRk ArTiFaCtS

In a room full of dark artifacts I sit
A gray clock ticks
With each chime I wonder
A new thought with each tick
A new question with each tock

A black cat purrs
Kneading its paws into my chest
Raking its claws into my flesh
Blood flows from wounds like tears

Tears swell in my eyes
Not from pain physical
But from pain emotional
Pain incomprehensible

A dark bottle lies discarded
Warm red alcohol drips from the neck
A puddle has formed and matted my hair
Is it firewater? Or blood? Who's to say?

Djarum blacks sit discarded
Crushed somewhat in a silver cigarette case
The smell of burnt cloves and tobacco fill the air
Long since gone are the Marlboro lights

A shimmering blade rests under tainted fingers
Finely sharpened, honed to a razors edge
Waiting with patience to unleash its fury
Arteries pump in wrist and thigh
But soon no more