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dark rooms

shattered, cobwebbed,

window panes

and the blood-red sky beyond

with the sun embedded

like a lost pearl

in a lava sea . . . .

claustrophobic mountains

screaming at the clouds,


and all around

souls of lovers

crucified like scarecrows

on the withered branches

of dead trees.


my world

where the only truth is loneliness

the only warmth, the fever

of intoxicated insomnia

the only eyes

the detached eyeballs in the fish tank


like sluggish spirits among the weeds.


i ventured out a couple of times before.

i still do,


but each time return to find

the dracula teeth a little sharper

the head a little more

like the skull on mantlepiece

ogling at life

with a grin.

the time is drawing near

when you will walk into my room

to find another skull on the mantlepiece

ogling at life

with a grin.


will you then

dust the cobwebs

from the sockets of my eyes?

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Paul Mathew

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