The MeAL....

the soul ceases where the voices call,
deep from the tunnels of the dark.
scathed victim of a scavenging savageness,
a murdered shriek of a lark.

voice ceases where the storm begins,
in the caves of another Lucifer.
still uncertain in these draconian times,
still unable to fathom what is deciphered.

a saccharine poison flows
from your mouth into the deeps of mine.
eyes shut themselves to avoid
what is inevitable in this time.

to be held hostage in fragility
in the arms of your venomous animosity,
its like the rush is so perfect
in this medium of supple rhyme.

the rush ceases where it burns.
it only leaves the remnants of gory.
flesh still throbs in the impulse
towards the end of my story.
i see you still beaming at me.
can you make the pain go?
you grin your best at your hapless prey.
and forge all there would be to know...