beauty

Volcano


Uncontrollable forces –

Fire and smoke,

Water and wind;

Coming together

They decimate everything

On the way.

Beautiful destruction,

Enchanting horror,

Constricting sound.

Any step closer

Is a bad idea,

And yet you

Have started moving.

You are the smoke,

Blending with the steam,

Finding your way

Where you should not be.

I pull the thin, pretty threads

That wrap around your neck

And twist gently enough

To put your consciousness to sleep

And distract from the inevitable.

I am a volcano

That is about to erupt

And drag you under.

Malachite


Lights flicker

In sync with my heartbeat;

Arhythmic waves enfold

And cushion.

Osmium eyelids are

Closing uncontrollably,

Leaving me unable to stay awake.

The vision.

Green shades fill the cave;

They shine through the metal eyes

I have still been unable to move.

You are here.

I cannot see, yet I know what

Is in front of me.

The masterpiece;

Meticulously polished malachite shapes,

Soft curves, and green dust.

The arrhythmia has become

Too powerful to contain.

I can see the faint images

Of stones and blades

Covered in granules;

Breathing is becoming heavier than

My eyelids. I know,

You are moving closer to me.

I no longer need my eyes to see

What I have encountered.

Your sweet copper breath

Gives me shivers,

Paralysing my vital systems.

You were born of destruction,

Torn from where you were meant to be.

I will happily face my fate

As your face comes closer to mine.

For I am just a simple miner

Who came to your mountain

Without being invited.

And as my breath diminishes into nothing

With every passing second

You graciously touch my lips with yours

And I can feel the smooth malachite hand

Sliding into my hair.

You are the queen of this mountain,

And I am but a slave

To everything you are,

Spending the eternity

With the nature’s masterpiece.

Knife


Your perfect face…

That silky skin,

Heavenly lips.

Hearing you breath

Makes my heart

Jump out of

The rib cage.

I look into your eyes;

Can’t stop biting

My lower lip

As I push the knife

Into you.

The warm red

Will evenly paint

The soft porcelain.

I will leave my fingerprints

All over this

Shameless fair surface

Of your shoulders.

Your weak grip

Will soon let go

As I am almost done

With slaughtering

The last bits

Of sanity.