I no longer know what I am or who I appear to be.
I am a mask; the rest of me remains unseen.

Lost in a sea of broken mirrors,
But nothing grows clearer;

All I am is the glint in your dying eyes,
Quietly drowning in my hollow lies.

I know not who I am or what I do;
All I know is in this pool of scarlet hue.

Blooden'd tears fall upon
Thy tender cheek.
A hollow chime is laid
Bare on swollen ears.

The blank canvas of thy
Body lies still like a mirror'd
Pool in aspect of night's
Algid face of innocence.

Under evocative, tragic skies,
In the fields of summer bright,
Lost in lamentation's hue
Thy death as sweet as roses' bloom.

Quietous* tree,
That hath sought
Found to bleed
And from torment wrought,

Thou dost despondent stand
And thy veins doth shed
And bury in desolate land
The tears that thou hast bled.

Thine heart's own verisimilitude
Beats within thy stiff breast
And all thee hath eschewed
And thy plot avoid lest

Thy count'nance rear'd
And thy misery form'd
Within all whom thee fear'd
And their joy harm'd.

Quietous* tree,
Son of agony's lot,
From the pain within thee,
What horror hast thou begot?

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.

After all has ended what will be left?
A solitary weeping figure?
A pair of fissured eyes that wilt in the dark?
Or the vermillion tears that fall upon the
Heads of budding roses supported only
By their feeble necks?
The death of the angels is marked by
Grand symphonies lost and redundant.
Stentorian cries in the heavens shall
Wake the dead oceans and cover the earth.
Pallid faces, hollow eyes and cold lips fall.

What will we be witness to?
What will be left?

All of hell is wrapped in ice
And lodged in our throats.
Sibilating we die, pale and
Cold like a thin rain that
Washes blood from
The summer fields.
Cacophony. A thousand
Shrieking crows produce
Our crepuscular sky.
We suffocate under this Stygian
Blanket, like a naked, stillborn
Fetus on the winter road.
Train me to walk; Stand my
Splintered feet On the fraying rope
- And watch me go.