I am crusade of shedded snake skins, a constellation of dejection. Marred, Poisonously dead. My grief, was tyrannical— inhumane in nature. Monstrous in addiction. I was a stolen black rose from upon a grave, that had grieved its decay and carried a haunt within. I have since long not known of a day that the sun went past me, but I am deathly aware of endless nights, my petals were scarred in.
“Unbidden arrows, my heart, it perceiv’d a pale white dawn, in dim lights of love-laden blood-fill’d bed, as if a grave of a hymeneal chorus, these shadows of languid hours, tired in blood and wine… true and deep, I fall asleep in the arms of demonic nightmares”
“Of so much, clustering, a slender waste, as if he was a demon carved touching the curvature of a perfect witness, a snake… A journey to the path of infernal waters, he sees himself, abus’d and disabus’d…not knowing whether to call himself a beast or a demonic God. His rural ancestors, his sole judge. His conscience, a rustic vein, His dark cloaks, his soul to blot.”