Sarette's Reve De Mort: And Other Stories Of Not Quite Magical Realism
35 Skeleton's Final Laugh
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Under the lamp I sit,
Sitting in the darkness,
Thinking of the why.
Under the lamp I sit.
The snowflakes in
Winter sunset looming
Under the horizon,
Shading over, blooming
Begins to cease, lit
Fireplace in my
Humble cottage, bit of
Warmth now warms. Air of
Humble cottage, darkens.
Coldness shivers my
Skin and bones to touch...
It crawls on my thin skin.
I once was great yet small, growing quickly
Up until I reached age eight, now I'm porkly
As I rest in my chair thinking, heatedly.
Perhaps one day I'll see the sun again.
But only if I remain fit, no crowning grin.
Perhaps but not with utmost certainty, grin
For the skeleton in his closet, waiting
To clasp his bony fingers on my throat, gripping
Until it can grip not more, as I am falling
Down to a floor chilling my skin, shivering
Down to my very core, upon this chilling floor
Growing quickly tired of this cynical
World, my psyche becomes so clinical.
Coldness shivers my
Skin and bones to touch...
It crawls on my thin skin.
Under the lamp I sit,
Sitting in the darkness,
Thinking of the why.
Under the lamp I sit.
The skeleton laughs its...
Final [email protected]@
Under the lamp I sit,
Sitting in the darkness,
Thinking of the why.
Under the lamp I sit.
The snowflakes in
Winter sunset looming
Under the horizon,
Shading over, blooming
Begins to cease, lit
Fireplace in my
Humble cottage, bit of
Warmth now warms. Air of
Humble cottage, darkens.
Coldness shivers my
Skin and bones to touch...
It crawls on my thin skin.
I once was great yet small, growing quickly
Up until I reached age eight, now I'm porkly
As I rest in my chair thinking, heatedly.
Perhaps one day I'll see the sun again.
But only if I remain fit, no crowning grin.
Perhaps but not with utmost certainty, grin
For the skeleton in his closet, waiting
To clasp his bony fingers on my throat, gripping
Until it can grip not more, as I am falling
Down to a floor chilling my skin, shivering
Down to my very core, upon this chilling floor
Growing quickly tired of this cynical
World, my psyche becomes so clinical.
Coldness shivers my
Skin and bones to touch...
It crawls on my thin skin.
Under the lamp I sit,
Sitting in the darkness,
Thinking of the why.
Under the lamp I sit.
The skeleton laughs its...
Final [email protected]@
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