This popped into my head the other day (thanks to Brian for the advice). I thought I’d share. I’m nice like that… unless you hate it, then you might think me mean.
Necromancer’s Captive: Bound.
Dead fingers walk the skin of my thigh,
Necrotic flesh a horror to my eye.
Do I brush it away?
Send it tumbling to the ground?
Or simply allow its pawing
Fear keeping me bound.
A ragged, empty breath attempts to leave my lungs
The hand twitching, digging; thigh numb.
What magic is this, giving appendage life?
A hand without an arm
Severed by a knife.
Looking to my belt I see iron
Dull and patchy red
The hand I cut free of my enemy’s will
Still clinging to my leg.
A shudder…
Attempted gasp
Nails revealed dried blood
I need leave here
Chains bind my other hand…
Would that I could
For a time I watched
Skin peeled from leg
And then it struck me
My own stump
Brought to my head.
It is I who is dead.
It is I who is dead.
If anyone is artsy and inspired to draw/paint something from this, I’d love to see and share it. Hint hint…
Love love LOVE this poem! Haunting and thoughtful. 🙂
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I thought of Ash from Evil Dead with this poem.
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Sadly, I’ve not experienced Evil Dead 😦
That sounds wrong heh…
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