I'm not here,
nor there,
not truly tangibly anywhere.
As transparency slithers about my veins,
i'm  phantom,
silent deathly.
Eyes carry and lurch black holes
to quicken about the pupils.
It's the faceless death that paces about you,
rests against your blooming breath sitting next to you.
If I cradled the malfunctions,
misplaced to mutilated insides
about my criss crossed shoulders,
wingless back of blades,
death will but flutter in resemblance
against my skulls frame.
Transperce,
unravel about the living,
wings of dust reel,
I phantom of deathly....
a faceless orphan forget me.
Gods got no place for the dying ghostly.