Posted: 21 April 2017 | Journal Home
Demonic tirade ruptured souls make.
The voices from my grave haunt me.
My screams have burdened me.
My screams have buried me.
Drawn on stained glass a godless romance.
Dawn approaches absent of sun.
A heavy darkness exposes picked scars
While blood dimmed eyes feel for hope.
Rivers of scorn delta to my mind
As banks of glass beads, broken by fists, cut the ego.
Fallen angel, zealot of shadows, speaks through the ear
Wanting sacrifice of this broken lamb.
“Say something” thoughts move nothing
But dryness from the lips to the throat.
Chords that vibrate grunts and moans offer no protection.
Solace once held me only to be abducted.