THE LAND OF BROKEN HEARTS
Vampires roam free tonight
in this land of broken hearts,
dead-set on their quest to find a victim—
a kindred soul with whom
to share their shattered lives
I thrive on the thought of being that soul,
to give up the life that loves me no more
So I sit by the window and wait
for mortality to sing its final song
I hold my breath and swallow words—
childhood fairy tales that glittered long ago
but died once they broke through
this barrier of flesh and bone
DANCING WITH INSECTS
She dances with insects
who swarm to her beck and call
beneath a quarter moon
while the smell of murder lurks
in the sleepwalking woods
where angels flap their wings
and creatures stir to the sound
of a blade against flesh,
blood brewing in their veins
Little do we know that the
killer is within us all,
waiting for his moment
of glory
STAINED
time-stained and
lost in soiled sheets
the strain of daily living
lies bleeding
in my bed
the pain of waking
the dead in graves arise
the torment of
a sleepless night
the light in my eyes
shines too bright
like childhood
before you blink
PERFUME
the sound of bones on dead leaves
these flecks of flesh
the perfume of your memory
the ubiquitous wind
which carries your corpse
through the cancerous streets
the din of poetry
which escapes your rotting lips
death lingers still
in the cold breath of night
in the sweet patchouli stench
of your skin |
Stephanie Smith is a poet and writer from Scranton, Pennsylvania. Her work has appeared in such publications as Pif Magazine, Everyday Poets, House of Horror, Niteblade, Not One of Us, and Decomp. Her first poetry chapbook, Dreams of Dali, is available from Flutter Press.

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