Once alive, I now hang dead and blackened from your weary shoulders.
You covet my warmth, yet your heat permeates my every fiber.
Peeled away from my life-giving blood, my once supple skin is now toughened and cold.
But I envelope you, protecting you from the storms that surround you.
You pull me close, until the unyielding heat creeps between our skins. Your body burns and you shrug me away.
You discard me, pushing me into the darkness, but I wait.
A chill will prick at your senses, your storms will return, and I shall press my skin against yours, and comfort you once more.
-K.R. Rowe. KRRowe.com
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I am coveted for my perceived powers
Powers not rising from greatness
But born from the curse of my own deformity
I am but one, standing among thousands
Of three, there are many, but my fourth betrays me
I am plucked, the roots of my soul ripping from the earth
I am treasured, my shell tucked away or discarded in the wind
With the luck that I bear, I cannot save myself
From withering and crumbling to nothing
Here’s to you
Those seeking to engage my mental fog
Picking at my grey matter
Working it into an even duller shade of confusion
My skull is hurting and I scratch my scalp
Have I figured it out?
But no, the meaning eludes
Like the Chupacabra or the Holy Grail
What the hell?
Like a test I didn’t study
Or a sea of Chili Pepper lyrics
It’s garbled and just doesn’t rhyme
But it does sometimes
Will I ever know the meaning?
Will they ever find Bigfoot?
Some things are not meant to know
The imagery sharp
The prose crisp and clean
But I have to ask
What the hell does it mean?
Cold breath pulls me from slumber
Extinguishing light from my soul
You pass me into your blackened existence
I step away from the stench of my own demise
Stumbling from life into nothing
The past falls away
It grows within, each heartbeat feeds
Controlling thoughts, distorting needs
Sanity, the first it takes
The choice of will, the first it breaks
Digging in, it gains control
The parasite consumes your soul
Crippling hunger, never abates,
Craving for flesh, the spirit creates.
With the howling wind, its feeding consumes,
The cannibal’s lust, the monster exhumes.
Blood of the dead, the glutton will feast,
But never shall sate the Wendigo beast.
-K. R. Rowe