Graven Antechamber

The ghostly crown of light that spills through my window and chases away the darkness heralds the penury of a brand new day. 

The Ghostly Crown Of Day

She wept bitterly upon the ruffled sheets of the crepitating bed, clutching the stump of her arm where her hand once protruded. The pictures on the walls of her cluttered bedroom depicting gaunt, Victorian-era ancestors staring coldly on, silent and unfeeling. He sat naked and mildly tearful by the fireplace, rocking back and forth, trapped in her pitiful gaze. In his hands he clutched a bloodied saw blade lashed in a hundred years of rust. He observed it dully, some facet of his mind seeming to want him to lick it clean of the blood, but he ignored the urge. The remnants of bone and scraps of skin lay sparse and pathetic on the plate next to him.
“Give me your other hand”, he whispered through crimson lips, his once proud and booming voice now a mere gruff quiver. He held the blade aloft with his right hand while extending his left hand out to her. Slowly getting up from the disheveled plain of the bed and sitting down before him, she held out her arm and obliged her father…… 

Sunken Statues

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