The subtle sun of silent dawn,
Crawling into every crevice
In the crumbling stonework
And the fissured stained glass
Of the decrepit crypt.

Its murky interior gelid,
Housing forsaken old relics
Of forgotten young orphans,
Enveloped by blankets of dust
And white withered flowers.

Entropic amalgamations
Of decaying ****** souls,
In this squalid sepulcher
Of gloom and of light,
So profoundly serene.

So slightly below the splintered white ceiling,
I dreadfully shrieked at what the wall was revealing,

An apparition so putrid it rendered me ill.
Petrified numb I stood there soundlessly still.

It felt as if glancing into an ominous mirror,
One in which my grisly demise was ever so nearer.

The bones were exposed and the face had decayed,
Sockets were empty and the skin had been flayed.

The hideous doppelganger then wearily stated,
Soothsaying that my damnable soul was ill-fated.

Like a rabid old beast I lunged at the wraith,
Viscously clawing and drubbing to scathe.

I suddenly swooned and plunged with a thud,
Awakening later in a pool of my blood.

As I lay moribund on this cold winter's night,
I stare at the wall with a terrible fright.

The spot on the wall which I relentlessly beat
Shone with the crimson of fresh slaughtered meat.

But the blood on the wall was not just a stain,
Rather my portrait of whom I have slain.

The corpses in mud so corrupt and alluring,
As relics of the sinful saints from times past.
This land is a grave so boundless and vast,
I have yet to grasp what it is obscuring.

The blessed and the cursed are amassing,
Speaking in tongues only they comprehend.
Do they sing praise of their sins or repent?
Perishing again with each moment passing.

I have finally fallen and won't rise to stand,
Alas understanding the language of death.
Though I cannot recite it in life and in breath,
For I have now perished and this is my land.

O the burning bush of desire

With the flames of divine revelation
She kindled the lascivious fire

An immense inferno of lewd invitation
Luring prophets to their holy cremation

Resembling the Carnation Nahema
Its pulchritude blazed with elation

Burning with the ardor of Gehenna

Her hair red as rust
Sharply piercing my skin,
Tainting my blood
With tetanus lechery.

Time flying by
During our vigorous dalliance.
My jaw firmly locked
And my body spasmodic.

Her lust renders me
Utterly catatonic,
In an odd rigid trance,
Throughout my poor flesh.

My strongly bound jaw
Sealed with ardor,
Desperately reaches
For the warmth of her haunch.

This tetanus shall never
Be my ailing demise,
For its lecherous haze
Is of bound divine rapture.

One after another hellbound whiplash
From the whistling infernal crop of sin
Administered by the succubus fiend
Against my bent back physically aching
Yet internally healed by the sinful pains
Of inferior flesh so tightly restrained
By binding chains from Tartarean depths
So spiritually freeing as is the worship
Of carnal sacrilege during Sunday mass
Religiously devoted to masochistic desire
By unholy veneration of blasphemous lust
Bent at the whips and bowed at the feet
Of the god incarnate merciless mistress

Yesternight’s pale dream
Of a lamented maiden,
Skin frigid to the touch.

Her putrefied necrosis
Veiled by serene opaque,
So white it blinds my eyes.

Her face of porcelain awakens
And stares deep into me,
She sees my joyful anguish.

And so begins a song angelic,
Her lips against my ear.
We both fall into lament
And elatedly decay.