am no student of art
but paint with the strokes of my heart
at the beat of its drum
the blood on my arm
dripping from it's fist,
in a dance at a feast,

a bonfire, a hollow moon,
a reaper's scythe, a large spoon,
digging with my nails,
to blur my trails,
that when the sainthood comes,
to bleed my palms,

I stand justified
my ego satisfied
in a pouring rain
that eases my pain
when my soul rampaged in vengeance
and seeks not the house of repentance

am no holier than those before me,
nor those to come after
am a man with an eye
searching for a light in blindness
wisdom, in endless perversions of flesh,
and love beyond corners of graves
the blood of my soul,
that i use to cleanse my past,
of filthy hands and feet,
when the sun rose to cast my dark shadow

even the sweetest melody fades
after soothing a sobbing heart
into a slumber of silence
into a smile of dreams

I break my bones,
drain their marrow,
casting them into a fire,
the ashes of my youth

tears of the moon,
lungs breath out
smoke of ecstasy,
from dying flames,
burning desires
to leave ashes of sun

"I could eat the world," he said
as the blow s of hunger,
worked painfully on his breath

sighing he added,
"but only a piece i need,
some crusts of dry bread,
and a drop of water
to smoothly swallow with"

"and this face would glow
eyes like the sun
reflecting the joy of my soul,
through the curves on my lips,
wearing a smille like a flower,
blossoming in a desert,
the white petals of my heart"

over the shoulder,
sheilded by his shadow,
or clouded he is
trying to look into the future,
the games of the old
betting one's life
for gold and wine
robes of honor
on the counsel of the wise

within the heart
a pact of a brotherhood
on a climb to greatness,
a battle roaming
against the world
but now seeming,
two steps behind
so he walks, silently,
in the applause of his twin's success