A POEM by JAMES EZRA
Kings of Midnight
Slip on neon pavement,
Bare feet on blood,
Snarl of excitement
Like crooked teeth latching onto each other’s neck,
Uncontrollable beasts of midnight madness.
Songs of adrenaline glow orange,
Make the stomach sick.
Electric voices like a warped VHS,
Bruised fingers try to feed the tape back in,
Film made from strings of saliva spun like silk.
Wasted time is
Always too rough,
Always too familiar.
Barbed wire laughter,
Choking on spit,
A cold face resting
Against their jugular.
They reign over a kingdom of dead land
Seedy strip malls,
Feasting on fast food
As kings do at one a.m.
They stalk emptiness,
Run rampant when everything stills,
Those lost kids that day forgot,
The moon watches.
James Ezra is based in Texas. Her work has been featured in Faded Out and Occulum. You can follow her at @sickwithstress