Scorched Earth Seance.

I like to wake sleeping memories long since buried

Because I love hearing their screams again, and again.

The screams of tormentors — would-be victims clinging. 

Clinging to the assumption of ever being more than.

I like the way the ethereal dirt marinates their spirits

Buries them — Bit by bit, grain by grain,

Until the forming heap makes what we could barely see before

Nothing more, than an aggregate for a slippery road.

I promise I’m not evil. I just have a firm line.

No matter how tempting, don’t cross it.

In the past, some have often mistaken it as a means to win

Upon crossing the threshold, expressing their “victory”

They have somehow always found a way

To get tangled — strangled to death by that alluring line.

And I just watch; waiting until it’s done.

What, don’t look at me

It’s rude to interrupt a celebration.

– O.D. ©2022

Art by: ArthurHenri

I don’t go out of my way to teach anyone a lesson. No, they teach themselves.

%d bloggers like this: