I was born in a pauper’s grave,
with the metallic taste of a silver spoon still lingering on my palate.
A passed life of exuberance,
lost like the previous days’ sunrise.
Golden beams; symbolic of only a desire for an intangible ecstasy.
I grew with a sharp tongue and a black heart,
the quality of my soul marred by the bitterness of regret.
I craved a euphoria that I could never quite attain,
a deranged obsession to feel at home again.
Though, I knew I would ne'er again experience,
the touch of fine lace on my flesh.
There is now a palpable separation of the wicked and the righteous,
and I have been caste down from my glimmering throne,
to walk among the dead.
I cringe away from their decrepit hands,
and the sickly-sweet, decaying smell of their breath.
These rats eating rats, this cannibalistic life,
I feel its effect moving through my layers of psychosis.
It gives me that déjà vu feeling that the sky and sea, unfeeling as they are,
have heard enumerable cries like mine, all too many times before.
I have a yearning in my bones for the days of Summers' passed,
with the smell of sweet honeysuckles and red roses perfuming the air.
Delicate words whispered through the vines of cherry blossoms,
dressed in soft, white cotton and lying amongst the Juniper trees.
It calls a tender feeling of nostalgia,
but my vision is shattered and beaten by a retched reality.
That of broken moon beams and a devastatingly darkened, burgundy-lined sky.
There is a perpetual insanity that lingers after every passerby,
like a dense trail that is all consuming.
The residents of this apocalyptic dimension are all obscene and ******,
they all ooze a voracious odor of lingering death meat,
and no one seems to mind at all.