He's only seen what once had ever happened but the memories he has decidedly repressed his eyes have been glued, cemented in with solemness never again shall they open as they've been sewn shut
The stitches themselves have only ever ached for the needles were minute and blindingly fast the holes between each slight and delicate thread has left aperture trails behind, a kindling to his ****** gloom
Cleaved and lacerated, his lids have splintered **** filled blood as its only moisturizer spasmming as it oozes along the crevices of his face passing marred flesh like vines extending unto forest floor
"Hoc est languor meus Ego praestolabor in aeternum nam finis" said he with hand hovering over silver chaliced **** soon, though he shall weep the golden tear of death upon slab
one of the crappiest poetry writing's I've done. Still, enjoy.