Thou canst hurt me if thou want it.
Burn and break me,
Run your nails clean through me,
For not even the pity of vultures am i worthy.
But the soft, red, brush loves soothing ache.
With cold, steel, serrated lips
I kiss myself... So hard.
In long arching motions.
Yearns and. beckons
Screaming for repentance.
Gaping wounds speaking its beauty in riddles,
A mute crescendo of spewing blood.
Unveiling the- true self,
Streaming from the heart.
And dancing in a liquid veil,
A constant spray of fading life.
Sweet are their arms to die in.
But they carry thorns
Thorns that rapture and release.
The flesh takes form
With killing detail
And suicidal precision.
- Burning with Regret
- Break Me
- Song of the Knell
- From the Orchestral Grave
- Making the World My Tomb
- Will You Have Me?