Surveyor of the Night

(Edit)

She is the surveyor of the night.

Darkness creeps within her bones and

whispers of sorrow slink through icy veins.

With deep hydra eyes obscured

behind chalky, red-rimmed lids,

she keeps her grotesque gaze sealed,

craving peace where none originates,

and in isolation, she laboriously lives in Hell.

The pain of those surrounding her

fills her, enters her aching, irritated soul,

until she no longer knows who she is. 

Her lungs expand with toxic tunes,

the cries and curses of many

mixing together into a cocktail of misery.

She decides to drink it in slowly –

for her, there is never enough – for

as the demon-screams slowly morph into

savory-sweet mutations, her

mind celebrates the suffering,

calling her onward into a nightmarish abyss.

The drunk tragedy that she is remains

forever sheltered away from

shimmering lights and dew-drop mornings,

and a phantom breath escapes her mouth,

permeating angelic air until it changes into

an encompassing atmosphere of death.

Remember her,

tormented in this wretched state,

for she is the surveyor of the night.

She even haunts herself.