Poetry Blogs (manuscript)

Dust motes flare bright as falling stars above his sacred work,
his skillful strokes slash at the demons skin,
interlocking prayers his only protection
from the nightmare trapped by walls of cinnabar and ultramarine.
It coils, threatening to leap into the eyes of any who gaze into its charred-bone face
bleeding into the minds fibres, it's most cunning trick.
Its likeness, flayed as ...

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