Honey lets drink the nectar of downtrodden ancient gods
until your limbs fall to ruble
like the temple of their lost worshipers.
Hold loosely to my numb hand as we loose our minds
in the fog rolling through our heads.

Let's escape.

All the legions marching through our veins,
doomed to death and resurrection,
oh how familiar we will be with that destiny
having practiced so many times.
When that fate reaches our time,
and we melt once more,
busts of ink onto the page in blissful atrophy.