original poetry or short stories

TW// graphic gore description

The Loose Anchor

I dreamt of her that night, Venita. Her shining ember eyes under the pale moonlight. The way her winter chilled hand reached towards mine. She looked into my own eyes almost with a sense of vanity upon seeing her reflection She was beautiful in her death. Her rotten soul slowly disintegrated in my heart as her body decayed in my arms. She gave me one last smile as she breathed her final breath. I had loved her, I love her. I embraced her as often as I smoked. She was my tobacco, my love, and my lady. I called on her often yet  I had not yet built the courage to ask for her hand, I regret every moment we weren’t engaged. 

In my dream she led me to a field of lovely lilac lilies, I am sensitive to pollen, she knew. She loved when I sneezed, She always said it was like that of a young feline. She would often make fun of me for this but I took it as a compliment. We lay there basking in the stars, finding shapes and names as the faint clouds passed overhead oftentimes covering a portion of the stars. I have been in bed for weeks since her death. I feel as heavy as lead as I compare my heart to the soul-sucking hole in the middle of the galaxy. So simply stupid I was. I have locked my chamber doors and will not let my servants leave,  I have lost much of my fortune to paying them to stay alone. My family is worried, they write to me often, I read the letters the postman brings but never write back. What would I say? That I’ am doing better? 

I have resorted to harming myself to join her, I am too afraid to follow through but I am hoping for a twisted accident. If the townsfolk knew my horrid thoughts they would hang me or at the very worst send me to an asylum. But I’m not like those insane people, I just think differently. I am not of a simple mind, I come from a wealthy family, I am handsome, I was to be with a beautiful young lady, but now, I trace my face with the image of her hand on my cheek. I let her come into my bed late at night, I see her sneak into my room late at night when the seas are still and the insects are quiet, the birds are not yet chirping, and there she is under the moon again. Every night as I let her crawl in through the window I pretend to not notice her convulsing limbs and shaking core. Is she in pain, I wonder? How ridiculously impossible is it for her to crawl through that window? She must have read my mind this night because as I thought this she looked at me, her dark eyes looking unto mine, and smiled, not a genuine smile, just a simple folding of the corners of her lips, her cheeks did not move, and this was the first her mouth had moved. She never spoke, only swayed and hummed occasionally. It had felt like months when I finally emerged from my sleeping chambers, Food had always been delivered to my door by my servants and I did not care for the monthly bath for I was not to go anywhere. 

I never blamed anyone but myself for her death. She is gone because of me, I loved her so much I hated her. My heart ached from my love for her, I was in pain daily. I felt as I was having a stroke every moment of every night. Her eyes constricted my heart and the poetic language she used to speak sewed my mouth shut. As if the threads in my lip were her lifeline when I finally opened my mouth her soul shattered before me. Her eyes became light and her skin became lighter. Her hair turned grey and her nails chipped away at my heart. She scratched and fought her way out of heaven, our heaven. She let me go as I was her only link to this pleasure, but she hated the feeling I gave her, the pleasure and euphoria my heart let her own. So as if I was her anchor she cut me off and sailed to the dark seas. That night as I held her in my arms she continued to scratch and bite as I slid my sword into her chest, severing her heart from mine. I observed as her life source sprayed then turned to a drip out of her breast and onto my wrists. 

We were the stars that night, we were the moon, and we were the sun. We were everything and nothing all at once. She was like a sprite dancing amongst the trees and bushes and I was the supernatural hunter. I killed her in her happiest state when she hated me. I was in my worst state, loving her. 

So now I wait alone for the day that I will join her, I attempt to make the days pass faster but nights seem to last an eternity. Infinity. Something I never thought I would live through. Now I am tired, Now I am uninspired, I have lost my glory. Every day I feel like I am standing on the tallest mountain and showing my truest, rawest, most pure form of myself for everyone to see but no one notices me on this mountain. I feel invisible she saw me for me and hated it, but I romanticized that fury. I would rather be thrown into prison or hung than stay awake without her. I would like to be burned at the stake for the whole town to see. Maybe then someone would see me for me again. I would let them rip me apart like wolves, I would let them gut me and eat me They could see all my insides, my intestines, and muscles. My raw bones, Then and only then could I truly be seen.

So beutiful but crude. Reading it really paints a picture in my head. i wanted to look away but couldnt. nice job