Den Khaustov

Fleshless Murderer

creative and elaborate person with avalanche of tangled thoughts roaming in the head that can unexpectedly align and pour out on a paper, forming a new piece of art

Words can hurt
They are a weapon in psycho's hands.
Burgundy stream touches hair strands –
Sadistic way of razor's flirt.

Sometimes they vanish
At once as if by spell
Or just conceal themselves behind veil
And wait till getting banished.

Words coming out
Of mouth through toxic lips.
Parade of fierce whips
Compels to agonize - that's what it's all about.

Sweet fluid voice
Supposed to get heart melted,
But in the end it's pelted
By arrows like voodoo toys.

Words slip into a universe
Of human being, straight inside.
Then blow out its pleasant light
Giving an inky darkness birth.

A shield is broken:
They tear it savagely to pieces,
Manipulate emotions and freezes
Them so that they won't be outspoken.

Where is it possible to find
An antidote assuaging pain?
To pour it in a bowl and drain
Till laceration fades away out of mind.

Internal beast has to get free
To catch revenge's smell in air,
Put on a burning frenzied stare
Wallowing into requital's spree.

Words can hurt,
Leave track as noticeable scar
Where there was no hurting touch so far.
Time wipes it out like water spurt.