Holding hands with sorrow. Trading fiction for my life. Spread the melodies far and wide. A new son is born.
Each tear seperates flesh. Trumpets sound as the death of curse brings forth the birth of a new creation.
I killed what I thought I was as the lamb bled at the foot of Mt. Zion. She drooled with anticipation to bathe in the autonomy of a world once lost.
To be reborn in the place of the skull. I am your one eternal grin. Killer of dreams. The voice of Judas. I am not your prodigal son. Raise slit writs to the sky. Let the rain clense your wounds of the maggots they left behind.
One final chance to hold fate at the palm of my naked hands. To gut the harlot and rip the bastard from his feigned asylum and hold his lifeless body unto a world indoctrinated.
Carve your name into my back. To live with your mark is to die with purpose. And a night of fear is a night of passion. And my soul may never feel her warmth again.
Finger to lip to quiet the child's scream as a fist speaks softer than your kiss ever could. Lay your broken bloodied hand upon the moist brow of this tired soul.