Bjorn Visser Poems

I silently gasp as the paper flutters to the floor
Is this a signal of the end?
the last pictures, our last hour?
...

He pushed her up, against the wall
He tore her dress, he ripped her soul
She felt his power
He sensed her fear
...

Lost, has the echo’s become my friends?
Alone, never. He is always there.
Staring, never blinking, breathing down my neck.
I scream as the pain claws through my heart.
...

Once again he visits
We share a cup of tea
We talk about the blood he’s shed, before he drains me.
We chat about the small things
...

Tick’ Tock the clock strikes twelve
a nightingale sings.
A treacherous heart releases painful gasps
a gluttonous hand grabs everything.
...

Like a tree,
you are.
Trapped in the very grounds
you once thought yours.
...

Another day,
a gloomy, dreary Saturday.
It passes, like a pregnancy.
Painful, yet excited at the thought;
...

Preserved like a still
born. Un fed baby.
Whit coats with
peering eyes stare.
...

I’m never safe.
My toes hide within your leathery confines.
But, as the nightingale sings,
I hide from you.
...

Your leaving, taking your body along
Leaving traces of your spirit though -
For me, us, to feast upon.
Like feral dogs or hungry cannibals.
...