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Sensations of anguish swallow me whole |
|
anxiety drills its way to the marrow |
|
the quill I dip in the red ink impure |
|
to compose poetry by which they are allured |
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Mounted upon a three-legged horse |
|
my zest for life trudges forth |
|
an invitation to the phantoms unseen |
|
the kama-rupic rinds in betwixt and between |
|
Like souls of sinners in purgatory fires |
|
striving to escape the jaws of demise |
|
the remnants of unbridled human desires |
|
severed from matter by the kiss of the Scythe |
|
Concealed in the multitude of leeches |
|
yearning to feed on my vitality |
|
I can sense the intensity of their hunger |
|
to consume what is still left of me |
|
Predatory functions inhabiting not flesh |
|
as if vicious thoughts were floating around |
|
sharing the collective curse |
|
the compulsion of parasite paradigms |
|
Drained me dry and emptied my chalice |
|
leaving but an echoing well behind |
|
locked up I am in this dark chrysalis |
|
to hatch out devoid of body, soul and mind |
|
Wrapped in the multitude of leeches |
|
yearning to feed on thy vitality |
|
thou can sense the intensity of our hunger |
|
to consume what is still left of thee |
