Is failure my sacred god, or the shield of my pleasure? Subtly caked in loving frost entwined in a sweet embrace. I wrap myself in fond memories of a thousand deaths Black ashes upon my plate, I eat so gratefully

And Sometimes I wonder, would it not be better, To just let it all slip away? I wonder, If I would ever cease to hear my own scraping Beneath the burdens of failure

Blackened sun a rotten core falling from my skies Lying down on arid earth, splinters devoid of light I am labouring so wearily, with the dampness of spring. Dancing through a mortuary, I knew this was meant for me Oh Why? Why can I not once, Have an Angel to kiss my sickly wounds.

And if only I could, I would…murder your god.

I am a transparent membrane grievingly My Iron cloak filled by weights, of this tragedy Hollowed eyes sinking down, to the depths of misery My Tortured screams, encouraging, my vicious agony.