Charcoaled all over my face
Streaks of disgrace
His making sure that our ways will stay interlaced
‘Cause it isn’t mine
That hungry smile
His making sure that our ways will stay ever so vile
But in his riding of our ways we got double crossed
With the package came a conscience that wasn’t easily lost
Every bloody inch of self-gratification
Would be compensated by a bloody laceration
And in that time
Where was he now?
He had long fled when guilt surfaced and made us crawl
What we tore loose but seemingly couldn’t consume
As we were the knife as well as we were the wound
The life we’ve taken
The life we’ve lost
Castigation, I accept responsibility
As I am never what I expect myself to be
The distance between me and my acts of impurity
are the outstreched lenghts of the burial grounds
It feeds on me
How can I be?
What am I without you….?
I hear him talk
I feel him walk
And who is speaking with such intimate knowledge of my thoughts?
A schism dressed in carnal relics is mounting the throne
By his feet a female figure washing grave clothes
The life we’ve taken
The life we’ve lost
With twisted pontificial pride he wears the tiara
He crowns himself whatever he sees fit, Malachaia
The distance between me and my acts of impurity
are the outstreched lenghts of the burial grounds
It bleeds in me
How can I be?
What am I without…. you now?
Starled from daily trail, always unwilling and unprepared,
I am witness to the sounding of the banshee’s wail.
As a malevolent current that ices the air, ‘t is an indication of his drawing near.
We meet at the burial grounds my shadow self and me
and everything has to yield to my compulsive leave.
A frantic journey through a woodland of overthrown memorial stones,
through reverberating icy moans, takes me to our obelisk of (de)control.
There I witness him all over the banshee, finished with her, he strides over to me,
and demands
-to be- my face.
And leaves me dreamwalker, ‘til one day he’ll be finally done with me.
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