To look is to love and to love is to rot
This crisis, condition, eternal the curse
Be doomed and be dead and be ****** to the ***
A flowering torment till tied in the hearse.

Tis better to writhe than bear flesh ‘gainst your knife
As worms we all are, and smoke the putrid soil
Present your swelled and bothered head to night’s wife
So she may feast upon the juice, your toil.

I’m anger, shame, and beauty, pain adorned,
Once seeped, I’ll wrap, ascend to eyes
I’ll leave, I’ve left, I’m gone, you’re sunk, you’re bored
Of stages shrouded in dream’s confounding lights.