I, in sorrow forever live and swell.
A thousand pangs and more each hour.
Alone to wait and weep for misery's bell
And bleed in Hell's Stygian bower.

Marred by silence, marred alone,
Obsequies possessed and slighted.
Death in heart, death in home,
But, my love, redemption, sighted.

The beauteous Cherub, me heart adored,
From the arms of Nyx delivered;
My bliss forever with her restored
And from our love, death did slither.

What must it be?
What must it be that doth
Pour from those cracked casements,
Those scarlet striped pools?
What must it be that doth cause my
Sodden mind and ground?
That doth cause me, in darkness,
To drown.


Does it match the dripping stain
On the shard of glass that has
Burrowed itself into my hand?
Did this shard destroy the
Mirrored surface of those pools?
Or perhaps embed itself into that
Beating ***** inside of you.


Does it match the glass itself,
Whose fissures now grow?
Did I remove those casements
And leave nothing but the black
Pits behind? Or perhaps I tore
That structure apart in fear of
What you might find.


What must it be that doth
Drain form those dark globes,
Those black doll-like spheres?
What must it be that doth
Shovel atop my cringing body?
That doth implant the nails into
My buried crib?

This palpable air is an organism.
Each movement penetrates its wraith-like flesh.
Each step is a dagger into its still breast.
It weeps and bleeds. Beaten daily,
It is wont to anguish.
Weeping hourly, slowly it shall perish.
Each minute chimes its piercing toll.
Soft and dreary shall each minute roll.
From these whetted hooks shall it hang.
And from your hands shall come the pangs.
Wet and weary, cold and heavy shalt thou wake
To find the dripping body that thou did forsake.

With death weaved in her hair she weeps;
With sorrows stitched in each lip she bleeds.
What woes quiver within her tender flesh?
What joys fester in relentless agony there?

The wicked sunset sheds
Impious light upon her pallid face.
She captures death in a glare
And I am cast into the
Ravenous arms of sorrow.

I must forsake my love for
Love's sake, not love for
Human heart, soul, nor flesh,
Yet a love black as hellish
Night. I flee in dread of her.

Now death, our virtuous mother,
Arrives in Stygian splendour.
Her head adorned with
Dead king's crowns.
I am lost in blissful woe.

A rose wilting under
The incessant lashings
Of the moon kisses
Her heart with black lips
And my soul is forever left
In the weeping dawn.

I sit in toxic garden bower
Dreaming of my love, her lips, her hair.
A thousand tears in my eyes do sour,
And I dream of her face, her beauty fair.

I sit in sorrow profound
Weak and aching, dying, bleeding.
Death captured in recondite sound.
Begging for my love, weeping, pleading.

No hour of peace hath come,
No fortune arrives
Only despair, decay, and darkness glum,
And I wait for death to rise.

I am wrapped in her algid arms.
I am lost in her evocative glare.
I stand, environed by the Keres,
Those dilapidated demons.

Azrael, my craven shadow, clings
To me as a vulture stalks its prey.
Thanatos does each step possess
Forward into this acidulous air.

Fissured masks release languid screams
That fall upon pallid faces that have
Long since wilted in her Stygian womb.
Enervated laughs drone in mangy ears.

I stand on the periphery of this
Asphyxiating cistern. I ambulate
Across this sable field that shall
Become the executioner’s blade.

Solitude, no pain more bitter nor sweet,
Clings, through heights adored and sorrows deep,
Forever with me alone and steep
Amongst mountains bright,
Yet black amongst valleys dry of blithe and light.

No fear unknown, no death afar,
Nor smile estranged, lucent as this star,
For I know no further bliss nor despair
As sable and as shines,
But no greater desire than for my
Life to forever mingle with thine.