Confusion in Underground Clouds

Culpability, And a Blood Red Sky

I entered into the fray, 

the frayed ends of sanity. 

Her flesh was stripped and strained, 

pulled taught under the stones at the edges of her grave. 

All around the orchard’s stones from the branches hung our hearts 

surrounded by the hollow sounds of wind-chiming bones. 

The aether hung heavy, stark, and stained, and through the thick fog 

I heard the trembling sobs of pain. 

I found her given up and bare, 

lost within her own eye’s vacant stare. 

Everything we knew was stranded there, held in place by the poured concrete of her irises. 

I split time with a knife and tried to lift the stones. 

A raging, red, river spilled across the spinning hands and drowning in the infinity of the

iridescent strands

I found my body lying there. 

Chewing on the bayonet. 

The scythe gripped in my hands.