cliffs

the rain does not wet her, nor the
sun give
warmth.
(she borrowed those dead
eyes from a
fish).
she climbs over the
rocks
like a patient
tortoise,
the landscape twisted and
torqued in
empathetic display.
below her: the
toy-town
cottages,
ribbon-
rivers
and the rail track,
a zip fastener on
an old green
garment.
everything is shrunken,
as is the shrivelled
heart
within her; a dried
bag of leather.
up here the
clouds
always make
faces;
you can’t escape their
terror.
she does not
deny their chubby
glance.

she knows she has killed;
and that she must pay.

cliffs

darkvampire

Joined January 2009

  • Artist
    Notes
  • Artwork Comments 14

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