black velvet box

sliding through ink
on a tapestry on the floor
the black knight smudged
the maroon streaked
the castle walls musty
the sound of decrepitude
the stench of aged ghosts creeping around looking for a hobby
a squelch of wet cold grass
a crackle of lightning in the autumn breeze on a cloud cast star occluded night
the black spear fell by the road, beside the abandoned wagon.
scraping feet, chains on the floor.
legs won't run fast enough, slow viscous.
over the cliff down the hillside onto the misty moors below. Lying in solitude at last.