csaw

It's been sitting in the dark too long - Among the dust, the abandoned toys, and decaying boxes of forgotten dreams. What do the rotting eyes see in the gloom cast by a too-high window? The spider-leg shadows of tree-branches,           the shattered-glass pattern in the dust,                 a shadow scratching the window pane in the depths of night. A montage of childhood horrors,           a memory lurking deep inside hollow pupils,                 recurring. In solitary dreaming there is beauty. And, who knows what beauty lies behind lifeless eyes? A red rose in a crypt of frost,           the cruel grace of a prowling