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At night, whilst seagulls laugh,
the waves break brick red
foam, spill spumes of blood from
each and every fragile coastal rock.
At night, paranoia slips like algae
over old desires, and stifles that
with which my day glow heart
had felt in reach.
At night, the shadows grow,
turn coats to claws, and clocks
to frightened clowns. Feed every
noise with iceberg chill.
At night I am Golgotha bound,
wrapped in sheets, made simple
by a three day wish.
And every night will be my last,
until that shallow light comes rushing
in, and shadows move like tombstone
rocks, and dawn echoes with a verdant
sigh, and whispers that it’s alright.
photo by splunge
photo by TheophileEscargot
photo by Kronos_to_Earth
photo by ethylene
