The Smell Of Putrescence

Piled covers; porched outside are the evils.
Awaiting, harassing is the reason of death.
Slaying is the core of all martyrs.

Opening is the door of blackness.
Lingered by weakness from such obscurity.
Imagines of a room of pure wickedness.

Crush in the infamy, the deceased wakening.
From nightmares and red hot flairs.
This night which lived upon the new breed.

True love is hard to find, which such misery.
With such godforsaken lives, such putrescent.
Flamed with bleak youth, spill the blood endlessly.

Fallen to the knees; broken and lost within.
The blood turns and spills as droplets smash.
I died that night, but, no-one knew.