The pain rooted and stretched,
reaching for infinity as its branches spread.
The pain blinded my heat and soul,
expanding beyond the depth of my mind.
I gently shaped the fruits of the despair into words,
hanging them from my chest as wind chimes,
and spent my days among the comforting chiming.
The pain is now trapped behind a treacherous wall,
Shielding all the despair and all the precious fruits from my mind.
Safety fills the air and the pain no longer plagues me.
The rancid stench of protected silence spreads,
the wondrous wind chimes cease their music,
and I am left without a Muse.

Lowly sinner, feel the lies slide off your tongue.
Feel the rush of your vile breath, poisoned with curses.
Inhale the stench of your pitiful rotting soul.
Let the growing horrid being within you enroot itself in your mind.
Allow it to spew hatred as it shifts to fit your soul like a glove.
Lowly sinner, this is your home.
This is your spirit hidden within.
This is your triumph.