In the Storm, Death’s Maiden

It started with rain, a ghastly rain that fell in spite
Of the lacking clouds through the hours not taking flight
A ghastly rain that fell and made dirt roads into clay
The infant pottery clasped my feet along the way
A shoe I lost, and then a sock, as I lost my fight
Against the ghastly rain until I had felt the light
The water curtain was so dense, all one saw was gray
One could only feel the light and find out where it stay
If I could relapse the Time Wheel… If I had the right
I’d make myself drown instead of suffering that fright

A fellow woman welcomed me with these words: “Good night.”
I thought it queer, but I should have let those words ignite
My intuition instead of casting it astray
Instead of leading me to where I… I now decay
Cruelty is not a game that only men delight
In playing. Womanly absences are so contrite
It’s what makes us so dangerous, our “victim” ballet
Some are truly weak, others wear the veil to portray
So that they lull, that they lure, that you take their invite
Into their parlors where, with your blood, they excite

I took her hand, the fool that I was: she took my life
Under her floor I rot, soaking up the ghastly rain

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