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My soul is shrouded by countless gaping sores, through which all that once was worth

enduring pain for bleeds away like purulent tears, and the sordid breath of corporeality

seeps like a  swarm of famished maggots, eroding their way through silently decaying flesh.

Red raw, frayed, throbbing and swelling from the sickening warmth of irreversible contamination, and each passing second is another grain of salt sown deep within such a slimy gash,

clinically placed to exacerbate the already unbearable torment.

Truly my very lifeblood has grown murky and grimy from years wasted in this callous exile,

and this filth has flooded my failing heart, and every wavering beat only spreads the infection further, deeper, leaving no unscathed corner beneath my gangrenous skin.

Nothing but scars in my palm

One more sip of blood, fuck your world

The nauseous taste of black bile

Fills the void between mutilated spirits

I need not open my reddened eyes to acknowledge the extent of this proliferating failure.

Mordant reflections of a battered, eroded shell can never trawl for covert wisdom in the cold depths of indifferent glass. Let no more pitiless radiances glide like hungry blades on these taut, muck-ridden veins. All I crave is to never have to crave again.

As I turn away from the brooding shadows that haunt my yesterdays I face darker palls arraying a stillborn tomorrow. The touch of tantalizing hope is like a lover’s kiss turned into a serpent’s bite through the scathing venom of betrayal. ’Twixt dawn and twilight lies an immeasurable yawning sky to cross, and the fathomless heights swirling above my mouldering manifestation

are pregnant with sulphurous fury.

Far from the light

I scavenge broken hopes

Cold communion with the soil

Of realities buried alive