the ground is a rock but a sponge on which I bounce, along strings of rubber faint elasticity dragged between seconds this silent planet my lone soul
the flowers are on the grave the whispers of the living black scarfs feathered hats, the shadows of hate standing around your halo in black coats and long dresses watching the fall of the sun
Their tongues hymn empathy, but spit darts of poison with their feigned smiles, the scent of your soul the blood from your heart, clotted within their nails so I know, that before the next sunrise,
shall they come after me with shinning scythes, under a hollow moon, like grey hounds, their beastly nails tearing the ground beneath to face this heart of a dark soul blackened by rage
the monster I have become with every breath from my lungs the power in my blood the fall of a star, into an abyss of vengeance with the sun still after a twilight casting a shadow of death, over their foul faces