Skipping around no voices...
The venom is searing through my marrow...

It comes to this...a vivid line
The time is up for the once faithful shrine...

Mystical strength reflected in the sheen of black...
In a rush of eagerness, a strand of fire flows...

In a silent room there weeps a child.
The wind and evolutionary syncophant of delivery...

In the silence, I beg to be heard.
But no...I'm not made for peasantry...

Pierce the heart of a well-fought fight; my lips...
Insightful pasts to feed the present soul-monger...

The sky is dark...
With a knife's blade for cutting weakness...

I lay in the earth so still; so quiet.
The sun's poison still seeps through my organic...

What was I in this world?
Too long for me to remember...

A tear falls and I wipe it not from my cheek. It...

Places breached along a mighty horizon...
...No sorrow then to keep...

A cold blanket in the wind
Holding someone tight...