There's A Sinister Side to Life

There’s a sinister side to life.
Brutal and real in that imaginary sort of way.
Flesh torn asunder
a violence
poured into coronary caverns.
It thunders and pulses
Fingertips throb with the nadir frequency of fear.
It’s a throttled, hushed tone
that knocks pernicious at your door.

The smokey breath of death slips beneath the threshold,
a bellicose bromine pools around your feet.
Suddenly the vivid stench of darkness goes quiet and flat.
The idle golden lock turns and clicks.
The shape it takes,
Altogether average but for a tilt and a tear
etched beneath the skin.

In the dusty corners of your eye, the world is black and white—
Stare this terror in the face
and see the hideous splendor of your own.
Escape the mirror of caprice
before its image breaks the plane.