Carried like a scent on the wind,
she pulls me along quietly,
no point in fighting, I've lost.
Pushing me forward, to a red end,
love is in the air, force is present, ever so sly,
pushing, wind at my sail, don't land, it is of cost.
It doesn't get better.
It morphs, carves and twists bones and flesh, no end,
wailing and flowing from a cave in the twilight coldly,
cutting, killing, crushing, no stopping the bloodlust,
breathing into & for me, a forced life to lend,
never put to self indulgence, never boldly,
waves bleed port & starboard, tranquility's holocaust,
systematic & brutal, my ink ever wetter.