theliteraryluggage:

Blackout Poetry from House of Leaves by Mark Z. Danielewski

“At least back then
I was the one frightened
the crook
the snot on the sleeve
– a mess
me.

hell was to let this animal die.

I wanted
she
she
even if that strange melody
I don’t know, just
relented.

A home
a yard
a hole
no place
a weird smile.

end up giving up on her

vacancy to taste –
all mine.

her deformed figure so perfect
so tough
she was frightened
knotted fingers
fixed on bare seas
dark, red, dead.
Maybe hungry
and abandoned with hope
maybe.

we could have been
safety, future.

for a moment I watched her
trail down
uncertain
until I heard the one sound
hollow
gone
dark
down.

I don’t know why she
lying, broken, severed she.”