When I look into my own eyes
I see Ravens
Beating feathers at the sun;
Shifting shadows beneath the light;
Voices ancient as Thought and Memory –
They guard the edges of dreams.
I carve madness from my eyeballs,
Picking out each vein with the blood-soaked barbs of feathers.
Mad woman’s milk spills onto my fingers
Like words staining my lips.
Dark moons cling to the edge of my tongue –
Violent spiders sucking in every breath and body,
Leaving nothing but desiccated husks
For the Ravens to tear at and peck.
Poem Copyright 2014 of Nightshade author of the Purple Broom