**** my bloated corpse  
into a dance of devilry.
Deliver my demons  
flowers of condolence.
Leach my bile,
for a while... for a while.
Save hand-me-down roses
in grave anticipation
of greater nothings.

Latent mystic
rising through my fog,
etching symbols of universal understanding,
that none comprehend.  
What secrets have you hidden,
in already hidden places?
What knowledge have you escaped with?
What knowledge has escaped you?
And have you forgotten the hidden truth?
The one that hides behind her eyes.
Or is it, from it, that you hide still?

Despair is the ware of the weak.
To seek the pinnacle, to seek the peak,
that is the mantle of a true warrior.
To fight... tooth and nail,
to bite those who want you to fail,
prevail,
to set fire to the veil,
to expose,
to propose the impossible.
That is true strength,
to go the length.
To be... truly be.
To see beyond,
to fly with barren wing,
to sing with barren soul.

With my tribulations on trial,
I smile with the pride of a lion
laying upon its trimmed victim.   
Eyes that of a drug addled cannibal,
soul that of an ink stain.
Black harvest moon, evil like my fingers
lingering too long on long forgotten chords.
I'm bored, and that is a sin.
A win for the devils of chewed intellect.
Victory for the ignorant of heart.

As the crow drowns
Insidious profound friend
End of candor
End of the end
Rose roots and runic worm trails
Fail-safes left unattended  
Unmended vain tatters
What matters?
What truly matters?
Dreams of red in ribbons
Seething bloodlust and dead intent
No rest for the wrested

It's more than broken,
my destroyed vessel.
I fear that it may never again
run with efficiency.
Decay plays upon the shell,
death emits a smell,
a rotten hell of necrosis.
For this, my friend,
is my penance.
My payment for thankless disobedience.
A sense of burnt offerings
never offered.

When you're lost,
carry a post card of who you are.
So, near and far,
you carry an illusion.
Pressed between pages like moth wings.
Folded in a dry rose petal.
Locked away in a magic stone.
Born upon a mind absent.
I'll lend you pocket lint postage
for a never-where journey.