Staining the glass ivory seems highly improbable.
The soul had been consumed by a creature named Devastation.
I have come to my senses and searched past the horrendous news.
There’s nothing else I want more than to dig into my own grave.
Perplexed by the alluring fear of despondency -
Raveled by your licentious trials and tribulations.
Count on tracing twenty steps back while you gather your bullets.
Death is but a staircase away from fanning out this lantern.
My deepest afflictions are confessed above God’s Highest Law.
Open-air silence reveals a concerning pathway to these -
“Incriminating questions suitable men can’t engage in.”
“Assumptions about the continuance of immorality.”
“Breakthrough Cases in Compulsive Isolation Disorders.”
“Heretic thoughts in a society controlled by tension.”
But why?
“It shouldn’t be this difficult to form a light reflection.”
Could it?
Others say my window portrays a luminescent glimmer.
What used to be vibrantly toned is now charred openings.
Numerous times, I have fallen short of my significance -
But doubt the opinions of delinquents and desperadoes.
Once you perished, my consciousness became the worst nightmare day by day.
Seething at the prospect of being alive and breathing well -
Paralyzed by paranoia, refusing medical care.
Considering this to be true is a permanent hellhole.
The Lord handed out paintings of psychedelic entities -
I solely perceived it as black and white.
Remember Angels casting down oneness in the hearts of men?
Because I do not.
Because I will not.
Because I cannot.






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