A sanguine horror is plastered across the marble, its slippery sheen reflecting the brilliance of the perfect man. His flesh taunts my eyes, teasing curvaceous lines and rippling muscles that peek through the toga. Though like the others, horror creeps through the stone. Turn one way, and I see a tenderized face: Eyeless, jawless, nose-less, toothless— Has it stopped breathing? It sucks me into its black hole— ragged breath preaching that is has no soul.
What do you think? Let me know in the comments below, or by liking and sharing! Don’t be afraid to share your opinion!
© Thomas Gallimore Barker, 2021