Behind the door you can hear it
But you can’t touch it
Or at least you shouldn’t,
They say
Shattered on the floor cries shards of broken glass;
Remains of that night
Where god captured the last fighting force
And redirected the force through the panel of
Black, sleek darkness
Leaving those shards
Scattered across the marble tile, once clean and pristine
There is red.
In the morning there on the floor spilled red
Stealing the air in which the recrystallized
Carbon minerals
Metamorphose limestone
Before the heavens unleashed its wrath below
the room was drenched in sin
So heavy in moisture that the glass,
That had known the wall for perhaps too long,
Gathered steam and blurred the image
The image is what drove this.
What drove this elegance to calamity.
What went wrong? The chorus sings, prying the claws from their chest that originate in the most sinister place.
Hell. Hell arose through the virtuous stone
And that is when he had no choice but to
Rid this room of the transgression that built
And built
As Lucifer slowly,
Yet strongly,
Invaded the last inkling of purity
As she took her last white bath
Aug 1, 2018
Aug 1, 2018 at 12:35 PM UTC
Behind the door you can hear it
But you can’t touch it
Or at least you shouldn’t,
They say
Shattered on the floor cries shards of broken glass;
Remains of that night
Where god captured the last fighting force
And redirected the force through the panel of
Black, sleek darkness
Leaving those shards
Scattered across the marble tile, once clean and pristine
There is red.
In the morning there on the floor spilled red
Stealing the air in which the recrystallized
Carbon minerals
Metamorphose limestone
Before the heavens unleashed its wrath below
the room was drenched in sin
So heavy in moisture that the glass,
That had known the wall for perhaps too long,
Gathered steam and blurred the image
The image is what drove this.
What drove this elegance to calamity.
What went wrong? The chorus sings, prying the claws from their chest that originate in the most sinister place.
Hell. Hell arose through the virtuous stone
And that is when he had no choice but to
Rid this room of the transgression that built
And built
As Lucifer slowly,
Yet strongly,
Invaded the last inkling of purity
As she took her last white bath
Request permission to use this poem