Dead Maggie

Needle Verses (II)

He knew it was time
and so he now knelt,
with death in his nose
from the abattoir’s smell.

His mind bent in circles
as blood formed around,
the shapes of the conjuring
red on the ground.

It didn’t take much,
he thought, finger adorned,
from the claret filled bucket,
with deep crimson gore.

He baptised his lips
tasting copper and cruor
and settled his gaze
to the corpse on the floor.

He dwelt by the lifeless
with empty-eyed head,
and with care set his lips
upon those of the dead.

He waited, the taste of her
mixed with the soil
of his traffic in graveyards — 
a sinister toil.

With morning not far,
and the conjuring spoke,
his eyes closed at last,
as she tore out his throat.

images are author’s own work

The Needle Verses:
A brush with the macabre

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