The hunters coming for me skin

The hunter is coming for me skin 

Ì’ve seen his wrinkle deformed shadow

Tracking me in the burnt mirrors smoke

I’ve smelt his parched foul breathe 

When from the nurturing grave I’ve awoke

I know the lone hunter is stalking  me bones 

Expecting  I’ll soon act like a rabid dog drunk 

The darkness cloaks his growing presence 

The light revels only that we are blind 

My corpse his embalming  essence 

I’ve never been afraid of the vast unknown 

Where only boggie mens  gods haunt realms

I’ve always ignored  the purist  feeding 

At the bottom of a raised up wishing well

Where aborted fetuses  lament breeding 

I  dug so deep I found myself upon the surface

The hunter shadowed  me down my wells ladder

Upon the crust I met no devil or clever fiend

I only found what the gods failed to suckle

I only found where the gods fetuses were weaned 

And the hunter sat at a bus stop waiting 

And the hunter sat at a cafe anticipating 

And the hunter took a selfie while contemplating

They said it was suicide 

But the hunter just found himself commensurating 

In the end 

© bg 2015

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