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Empty, thought, talk

Words undead, in my palm they rest.

Breathing ink: abysmal wealth,

All lust lost - draped in pest.

Hunger unknown

All alone

Empty streets

Open doors gape

in their silent sleeps.

No spirit wanders these fading paths.

Flooding back - wooden souls

Within the walls is movement of a secret sin.

Risen am I - risen decline

Again madness fails

From afar: a skylark’s putrid song

Rustling garbs, a thorny kiss

atra edax pagina - while a kind mind hides to die