cantaloupe island

the antichrist standed

by the dusty window

with its red shoes,

amazing high heels

as of yore,

and by that, she

stared deep in to the soul

of the garden,

laid befront her.

"well, alackaday" she thought

to herself. no matter what,

she wasn't creeping out,

just sad there, staring poise

at the enchanted wildlife.

thirty five minutes,

the gaze mattered.

the garden looked back at her.

her pale body chilled.

she was alive

she was awake,

but she wasn't there.

she heard the rattling.

she noticed the roaring

through the wrath and green.

she poisoned herself

into a foggy hellish pit.

there is a world 

going on the abyss.

there really is.