Husk in the Grain

Lacquered lung, no breath, no air Pale grain swells in a swollen stare Mouthless hunger, bloated tongue Hollow roots where voices hung Splintered teeth, no taste, no sound Pressed beneath and never found Fingernails in dust engrained Names dissolve but marks remain Bone dust laughter, oil-fed wane No decree, no sharpened chain Hibernation, vermin wait Rotting slow but not to waste Pestled marrow, cold leaf feast Swallowed whole by silent teeth The jester sings, the dancers play Grain grows thick Where bodies fray Name dissolves in lacquered light Fingers scratch but skin stays tight Dampened spasms stretched too thin Wood absorbs the breath within Veins in splinters, pulse unwinds Flesh unthreaded, left behind One by one the words unspool Filling gaps in hollow gruel Blind moths gather, drawn to none Father laughs, the pull is gone Not enough to break or fade Just enough to waste away Brittle shade, no weight, no form Held in place but never worn Drifting husk in dust confined Neither severed nor aligned Fractured silence stretching thin Sinking slow in air so dim Woven deep yet pulling wide Unraveling what is inside No return, no soil to take No hand to grasp, no ground to break Only whispers drifting pale Only grain that bends and wails Only embers weaving cold Only dust that slips its hold The sky won't fall, the bones won't shake The rats won't bite, the hand won't break No fire, no flood No fate to claim Just a husk inside the grain Once a breath but now a stain Once a prince now remains The door stays shut, the throne still stands The husk remains No blood on hands, no blood

Submitted by Nargaroth — Jul 21, 2026