Ancient letters scrawled upon faded yellow bones, the words collectively speak of madness, and tell of a million stories ending, in cold stone catacombs. I dreamt once of a sea, turned golden in the setting sun, with waters as calm as sin undone. It called to me, bidding I release myself and fade into it slowly, much like a distant childhood memory. Lips crackle and come to life against mine, the key to the kingdom realigned, in a mysterious physical design.
In the dark they spread and fed, floating like diseased corpses, right there above my head. Gripping and grafting, dragging me down, purpose only truly found, once my knees finally struck filthy ground. Words assembled from the corners of the mind, buying just enough precious time, to spin yet one more fading rhyme. Dreamswept landscapes of black and white metaphors, leave my soul forever searching these horizons, for more colorful shores. In a land wrapped in desire and tied up in meat, it takes every last ounce of my strength, just to keep moving these godforsaken feet.
The light may break a brighter day, but did I simply say it, just to push the dawn away? Was fracture my ultimate design plan, or was I always destined for this barren land? Derelict stone walls encompass the space between, the comfort I’ve known and the hell I’ve seen. I find no justice scrawled upon this polished white stone, but absolution can always be found, underground, upon eternally reliable yellowing bone.