Black Cats & Bonfires
Humans are just clothing for skeletons.
By Alexia VillanuevaPublished 5 years ago • 1 min read
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“Autumn is the time for creative souls to come to life.” —K. L. Russell
The black cats have stolen
a piece of my soul every
daybreak as the sun sets
As the moon becomes
my midnight snack
I can feel
The bonfires have grown
hotter, the moon wider
and the crowd has gotten
bigger
As I walk in shackles
like a goddess betrayed
by the servants
I can feel the flame burn,
I can hear the black cats
meow and circle my unburned
body
I am nothing more
but the scum that satan
has saved as surreal
poetry has been written
on my self-harmed wrists
The black cats have become
my family and these bonfires
are my death
As they taste my sour
blood and meow to the
moon
I have turned again
to follow the path of every
other black cat
As I recite satan's words
from my slithered tongue,
can't you see the darkness
I reside in this white heart
of mine?
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