Twisted, wretched limbs, stretching in their foul manner
epileptic disease of the soul has, beyond repair, infested my heart
a gaping hole now resides where the organ of blood once pumped furtively
emissions of red life now ceased to a dull dripping dew, mourning the leftover
salvation I once felt. In breath, I take in a calm, only to release with madness and tears.
Despair is a captivating foe that clings to my wake like a friendly enemy.
A tigress in her stance of prey laying in wait for a morsel of hope. Pathetic wings of flight
I cater to madness, in hopes to seek what I know I shall not find.