My flesh has sallowed
In wake of this famine
You sent
My accusers shouting
Shallowness, clandestine sickness, how low these
Thoughts that were my friends have brought me to.
Though my eye glimmers at the darkness that walks in through doors that aren't my own.
Cessation my crutch, or my saving grace. Either way these steps keep leading me away. How strange that once I trumpeted my praises to any darkness that passed my way.
Heartless, past or present?
Raw stench drapes me, like an auric field to address how potential futures will
End