By the Pricking of my Thumbs
By the Pricking of my thumbs, is a nightmare I have had for 20 years. Has it come true? In the darkness I hear a sound, a voice calling. I stop to hear the voice cry out, but no one answers. This is stillness, darkness, there is life but beyond what I know it to be. Voices, I hear voices, but no one is there, not really any, not really. I see reflections of the past, but they aren't mine, I see the movement, life and death moments but of whom and why was I brought here? Am I a seer, am I more than just a child?
I wait, I linger.
I mourn my loss, the loss of my soul, the being that I once was. I am the murderer, the cause of the silence, the darkness and yet I cannot change what is before me, I cannot change what I must do, what is inside me, t calls to me in the darkness.
The figure of what was once a man, stands over the beaten and broken body of a woman so harshly battered that one must guess that she was once human, once alive. The face that might had cause a young man to smile, is now torn, bitten by rats, carved by the butcher's knife and now drug to the railroad tracks and discarded.
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I wait, I linger.
I mourn my loss, the loss of my soul, the being that I once was. I am the murderer, the cause of the silence, the darkness and yet I cannot change what is before me, I cannot change what I must do, what is inside me, t calls to me in the darkness.
The figure of what was once a man, stands over the beaten and broken body of a woman so harshly battered that one must guess that she was once human, once alive. The face that might had cause a young man to smile, is now torn, bitten by rats, carved by the butcher's knife and now drug to the railroad tracks and discarded.
By the Pricking of my Thumbs
By the Pricking of my thumbs, is a nightmare I have had for 20 years. Has it come true? In the darkness I hear a sound, a voice calling. I stop to hear the voice cry out, but no one answers. This is stillness, darkness, there is life but beyond what I know it to be. Voices, I hear voices, but no one is there, not really any, not really. I see reflections of the past, but they aren't mine, I see the movement, life and death moments but of whom and why was I brought here? Am I a seer, am I more than just a child?
I wait, I linger.
I mourn my loss, the loss of my soul, the being that I once was. I am the murderer, the cause of the silence, the darkness and yet I cannot change what is before me, I cannot change what I must do, what is inside me, t calls to me in the darkness.
The figure of what was once a man, stands over the beaten and broken body of a woman so harshly battered that one must guess that she was once human, once alive. The face that might had cause a young man to smile, is now torn, bitten by rats, carved by the butcher's knife and now drug to the railroad tracks and discarded.
I wait, I linger.
I mourn my loss, the loss of my soul, the being that I once was. I am the murderer, the cause of the silence, the darkness and yet I cannot change what is before me, I cannot change what I must do, what is inside me, t calls to me in the darkness.
The figure of what was once a man, stands over the beaten and broken body of a woman so harshly battered that one must guess that she was once human, once alive. The face that might had cause a young man to smile, is now torn, bitten by rats, carved by the butcher's knife and now drug to the railroad tracks and discarded.
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By the Pricking of my Thumbs
310
By the Pricking of my Thumbs
310
16.99
In Stock
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9798823132268 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Barnes & Noble Press |
| Publication date: | 10/15/2022 |
| Pages: | 310 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.00(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.70(d) |
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