CURSED 

 

Blackened hands hardened

over the heart exposed, expunged,

red roses rubbed into ruins,

‘We are no more

than the dust we leave

after death,’

a curse forgotten,

a force too rooted to be released.

Black heart burnt to broken,

banished to the ashes

of her aftermath and he cannot

cry, but he can crack,

like a mirror, now marked,

shaped into shards now,

splinters to spilt the skin,

grown thin, torn.

Blackened hands hardened

over the heavy heart,

bloodless, not longer

bound to the beat,

no longer whole.
‘Kiss her and curse her,’
and so the curse was cast

but they were young

and too busy kissing to take time

to listen to the whispers

of the witches of the wood.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

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