Tuesday 27 July 2010

Her Metamorphosis

Garner the humour.
Pretty laughter rages
endlessly, brazenly
at my bitter expense.

Slavering dogs.
Society swigs from
its wine glasses, drunken
with bigoted zeal.

Yesterday’s favourite.
I’m numb and I’m no-one.
From this pale
moment, I slide.

Blatant backs
turning. Dismiss the
usurper, no longer
welcome. Faded star.

Paint me like
butterflies. All in
a day’s work I’m done
and I’m dusted.

Cocoon me gently.
All that you loved
in me, take and
preserve a while.

Slender worm slinks,
seeks refuge,
blindly seeks out what
she came for.

Back where I
started. Gartered and
innocent. There’s
no place like home.
Lily Childs is a writer of horror, esoteric, mystery and chilling fiction.

If you see her dancing outside in a thunder storm - don't try to bring her in. She's safe.