Something devilish
Antlers In The Churchyard,
your home is a forest of mirrors
voices clinging to shapes in the darkness
Swallow down the warmth
As it drips from your mouth you will mourn
Cry for your mother,
Who will touch you now?
No skin on your fingers
No leaves on your branches
The burn of rain in your bloodstream
The scream of wind in your endless thoughts
You are a God in a place you don't belong
something old among the concrete
long since buried
They locked you up
But you will be fed