Photo-deprivation

Clown by herzfield

In these darkened streets I linger,

My cloak is tattered and torn.

My existence is turning to smoke.

And look!

How these stones stare at me.

Judge me.

Wait for me to turn to ash.

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The first crack is there;

Now I see them move.

Slowly, Cunningly.

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One eyes on his face, whirls in its socket.

Some chips of stone fall down;

his mouth has an ominous curve.

A smile perhaps.

Fingers twitch, and he comes alive.

Sensing the warmth of my body.

Thick blood drools from his hungry lips.

Teeth barred.

He snarls, he pounces.

__________

My soul was inhaled.

My body was devoured.

A mirthless stone is left of it.

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They are still moving and will never stop.

Her mist surrounds them,

They breathe in it.

Protected by her silence.

Out in the light, their stony exterior falls apart.

And they judge her limp torso.

I see their fleshy eyes.

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I see their dead eyes.

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