One Sense Too Much That Hourglass Dwells A Dreamer
I can hear the silken innards of the caskets' whispers.
They greet with exhortation to my ears.
But the moonlight declines and bound me to this
conscience ground.
Where stitches sewn betwixt my heels and my shapeless
shadow.
In this inconsistent connection (I vainly live)
The arrogant with amethyst eyeballs dearly deride my
dream as childish imagination.
Deflowering a virgin secret with myriad of
wicked...corrupt...corruptions.
Thus, I wear this noose of degradation,
like an emerald stratified necklace.
Now, to this left wrist of mine,
I lay a blood-ardent blade,
just in case God misconstrues
and doesn't show.
