Sweet salvation cometh
At the hand of a bitter
And fickle deity.

His avatar one of an azure haze,
Emulating from man’s desire.

His breath–honey strycanide.
His flesh an immortal cyane.

The color of jaded clouds of a dull-drum swamp.
Trapped in the marsh they make their prey.
Held captive by their inner-vexation (which is)
Cloaked by memmories of past centuries
Spent aloft in the velvet skies of niavete.

Take it in again for the final
But not last time.
There is no closure in eternity.

His eyes: cruel illusion,
Whoses pain is felt only after
The betrayal of departure.

Let God’s cold steel crucify me,
Lert my ears ring in deafeninf silence,
Burn me up from the inside out.
Char me black as your onyx essence,
For O how I’ve charred you.

O how I’ve succumb to the ashen winds,
O how he needn’t coerce me,
For I would corerce him,
Were he not all I be.

He prowls across the filthy streets,
Enticing all to entice themselves.

In the abyss of dismal darkness
It stalks its predator.

He is God,
And he is all.
And I am nothing,
And I am him.

I am We…

Shoot me softly,
Shoot me dead.

Shoot you!

Kill you but I can’t,
White stain on my pants.

Hate you sober,
Want you again.
Love you always.
Love my sin.

I’m kinda proud of this poem (though it could be better) so please do tell me what you think of it.

Categorized as poetic

By Necrologia

I like that which is aesthetic. My passion is poetic writing and romanticism. I'm open to most any experiance. I'm an analytical philosophical insomniac in addition to the previously mentioned. If you would like to know more e-mail me; otherwise I'm just another name on your screen.