Befouled. The chamber of the phantom wedding,
Streaked in the pulsing blood of long-dead hearts,
Simply writhing from the fleshly glories –
A thorny crown, embittered, soulless agony.
For merciful death stalks the aisles,
Shrinking spitefully, hissing lyrically to corrupt angelic elements.
Behold me now – reptilian, pallid, shuddering to the sun,
The twisted skeleton of my relentless hate,
A loathsome shade cast in searing, iron rage.
If only my tortured caterwaul should signal your cadaver,
Resting loyally upon an angular shoulder, screeching spells of
Love divine, till the magic dies afresh.
With it. A soul. A faith.
But not the shrieking, spitting torment as you tear in two,
And dream the evils of more monstrous brides.
A grimace in the dark, my lightning-call to doom.
It might be said that love of life, a life of love,
Would fill my house, my bed, my heart, my head…
But a jet-black claw ripped forth a life,
As my loved one skipped in the garden.
This unholy melancholy knows no end...