Maria Ann | Teen Ink

Maria Ann

January 29, 2015
By Mickenzie GOLD, Blacklick, Ohio
Mickenzie GOLD, Blacklick, Ohio
11 articles 0 photos 2 comments

Favorite Quote:
It had long since come to my attention that people of accomplishment rarely sat back and let things happen to them. They went out and happened to things.<br /> Leonardo da Vinci


I heard you hum, hum for my come, so here I am once more.
Pasty fingers drag the cadaverous thorns, dead they've been sense you've come.
Silver roses link a crown in your matted, tangled hair; the orphaned children of the dead vine.
Your hands are streaked with red streams of vital fluid; a dreadful painting that drips.
My bosom heaves up and down as I marvel at what you've done.
My skin constricts-peppered with the cuts of twisted branches, broken fingers connected to gnarled limbs.
My silk slippers are sodden with the remains of broken earth,  darkness consumes them with  the sluck of sludge.
Your black eyes are lunatic- demented as you raise your face-your face that is yet round with young- up to petrified stars.
You cackle viciously- your throat breaks of failure and fatigue.
You slowly shuffle forward, your legs purpled by dancing, twisted roots;
and with a chasmed claw you beckon to my muddy ear,
“ Jane, my friend, I am free.” you barley whisper it to me, like only a breath remained- feigned you grin.
Your busted red and chapped white lips crack with the shape of blithe content and finality.
Your turn from me, you fall to your knees, as you drag yourself  to the browning lilies pond.
You float on your back, the butterfly's song you sing.
I give you rapid chase, screaming of your mercy, don't leave me alone in this tormented place!
I stroke to find your descending body that sinks like an elder stone.
I dive under a mirror of sky, reaching frantically ,the crazy girls dance I preform, trying to find you-trying vigorously to keep you safe from harm.
Then, I feel hands-hands that pull me away;
I try to say, “No!” I try to utter, “Nay!”
But my bubbles only bubble morose visages of despairing despair and doesn’t say a word to the culprit that drags and drags away without a single care.
But my form is drug ashore, my poor Maria Ann is no more, and I weep as I hear them say, “We have retrieved her ma'am, perhaps now with this scare she will stop fawning over this make believe friend; this phantom by the name of Maria Ann.”


The author's comments:

I thought of this during art class, It really freaked me out when I wrote it, I did not know that that was what was going to come out of my idea. 


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