CHRISTINA CROFT
[b]Collision of Madness and Sin[/b]
stealth mode activated
shiny, jagged memories escape; soar
scorched blasts of my reused, mental sponge
feast upon an uneven, blood red core
which seeps with mutilated slivers
of misplaced truths, wretched acts
Sh! I dare not speak, nor even think
decomposed dreams of wailing; torment
haunt my midnight spirit; twist into a merciless rage
hindsight bites with icy fangs that slowly drip
with no one to accuse, except my unspoken name
scent of an aged soul smoldering cries out
weeps of regret forge from within
my victims now will sense my collapse
a soldier no more; not even a man
alas, I’m exiled to radically rule
dominion in my death land
[b]Blinded Twilight[/b]
Red hot, smashed phrases, spread
to burn her pale, scarred wishes
of soft, blue, cotton candy yesterdays.
Twirls of slush ridden, rotten promises
now engulf her exhausted spirit; attack her need
to feed and breathe of earthbound magic.
She craves to toss his maddening,
anger kissed words aside; drink
in soothing relief; full tide of calm slumber.
Nightscape whispers quietly laugh,
tell her to dance, join the living;
escape his soured, dark vision,
that bruises everything, anything.
Bolt of sharpened, jagged reality jolts
her to cough up some nerve and stand.
Future twilights shall not blink quickly
to be blinded from her sorrow;
she knows one life, one soul
are trapped only in this mystical flash.
Without hesitation she packs,
leaving wasted words, mind blowing fits,
and lies to slowly drown in her aftermath.
[b]Agitated Angst[/b]
Cooled, brittle magma
angrily tastes defeat; cracks.
Full moon stains
of red wine relaxed; spilt.
I peer through blackened holes,
perpetual pits
that singe my sub-zero,
yellowed bones with contempt.
Yet, you live to breathe
of glorious human tales
and lick of their mortal,
delicious, fearful wails.
I aged, rotted
in your midnight hurricanes,
no sleep; hunger buried, saturated
by your seamless terror.
I shall not weep,
nor attain you for your sins.
Feel my bottomless rage; gasp
as it begins to frantically boil,
escape, then seep
into your poisonous brew
of unjust eternal afterglow.
by Christina Croft (c)2002
([email]normal [at] bellatlantic [dot] net[/email])
[b]Author’s note:[/b]
Christina Croft was born and raised in the quiet town of Wheeling, West Virginia, in 1962. Life has been a whirlwind, as Christina married, became a teacher, freelance artist, and mother of six children. After moving all around WV, she finally settled in Canonsburg, PA.
Christina has pubished both short stories and poetry. Her writing can be found in [i]The Murder Hole, Shadowkeep Zine, Dark Moon Rising,[/i] and [i]Insolent Rudder[/i]. She will have another story in an upcoming issue of [i]Steelcaves[/i]. Christina is currently working on more poetry and the completion of two novels.
