Twisting, writhing, wretched contortionist.
Avoiding, withholding, unfeeling proportionist.
In the dark swells of the sess pools of your soul
You have murdered and hurt
Inflicted pain and cried…
And the burning fires that fuel your soldiers
pull you up from the ashes as if the icy wind
carries you from afar…
Hoping to drag you from the abyss
in which you find yourself
The words you yield carve atrocities into my eyes
While the blade of your tongue slices,
Deeper, deeper into my chastised nature
When the angels perish, wolves shall morn…
A risk never taken, a chance forgotten
Insatiable love. Love’s last jest…