The door is open. And can only be opened from the outside.
He sprints and leaps towards it,
The force pushing it off the cliff,
Into the raging waters,
The force closing the door and locking him in,
The force of his own skin.
The coffin bobs sinks and rises
With each swelling wave.
Leave me. Taunt me.
Stab me with thy piercing gaze.
He takes a rock and throws at himself
Within the mirror
The mirror cracks
Yet the stoic gaze remains fixed on him.
On me.
He drags his feet across
The sound of dragged chains.
The manacles tied to a rock.
He sobs he tears
He lowers to his knee
He starves his own shadow
With evil maniacal glee
His laugh resounds through the cave.
The sun hides from his shame
Darkness swops in
Laughing cackily
Horns and thorns
Pitter pattering of feet.
Flying daggers
Arrows
All pierce
His soft skull.
He sits on the cliff by the sea
Watching waiting.
But for the sun to rise or for the sun to set.
Death to him.
Rotting from the inside out.
Darkness.
Grief.
Silence.
Of the thump of a heartbeat.
Even the crickets hush.
And angels pass over.
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