‘The Hollow Man’ by J Snow

wendigo-face-picture

wandering through white nothingness
waning, weary, desultory
heaving puffs of heavy, bitter breath
blooming plumes of smoke
such a poignant allegory
achromatic gloom granting serenity and quietude
to ease the wounds of those clenched within the calloused
fists
of life

at least, for a while

elongated wintry smiles stretched thin the skin
faces of the meek
sneers as mere habits from constant combat against a season loved by none
disdained
save the indolent and the slain

fraught with despair
caged in the embrace of sunshine realms
the weak
fall upon frail and brittle knees, succumb to the hiss of mighty demons
crawling, slithering, twitching
in
subzero
Hell
every degree descending downward
lower levels
shadow-cloaked abyss

winter is a beast, wretched tales of woe

mourning perpetual existence as a solitary being
detached and isolated in sanguine dreams
the wendigo roams

Mayka aches to swallow whole
the raw and meaty bone marrow of those forgotten
as they lure him
from the deep of darkness

drifting stench betrays each forsaken soul
beneath frost-kissed canopies
and
bleak and blurry horrors of naked
opaque wilderness
deprived of life
lay silent
snow-bleached bones litter his hollow, cavern home
and
number six hundred and sixty-six
thousand

cryptic carnivorous catacomb

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