descent of the belljar
Spiders scuttle scabbily
scratching through the walls
reaching towards the pale coward
trapped in the terror of her mind
heart beats harder, faster, louder
to drown out these unliving
but live they will and the footsteps
of demons approach unfazed
by frantic drumming
as that spiraling hellish cacophony
grows indeterminably yet never
drowns out

a graveled gray voice beckoning,
horrible in its tangibility,
disembodied lips whispering whiskerly
in her fragile ear
that there is no escape save
the crimson one

and she longs to scream
but they rip out her throat
and feed it to her
though already she chokes on
her madness, the world is smoky
with it, and in the haze they press closer...

but she finds some last bitter strength
in the memory of sun, holds to it
a faint beacon of hope
and the glass lifts, the world straightens,
the spiders draw back.
But they still peer at her hungrily
from darkness, and always, it hovers over
ready to descend.