Inundated with choices,
All of them my vices.
Drowning out obstreperous voices,
You became an arbitrator, leaving me to make sacrifices.
Written in the way you stare me down,
Was the culpability pressed into my heart.
Senseless, naive; wrecking the lovely way I was perceived.
Cultivated to be your fault.
Tapeworms weave their way
wrapping around organs
suffocating the blood flow,
maggots begin to grow
eating away on dead flesh,
feeling them bite and squirm
inside your guilty gut
of disgrace, disgust, deceitful secrets
that linger night and day,
festering and eroding away
until the disease reaches the heart ...
There be Guilt at The Summit of The Sober Morrow
Eyelashes singe from grilling behind.
Bones ache, joints seized, unholy shrine.
Mouth arid akin to dust.
Raucous skull akin to rust.
Was it worth it?
Cloudy lucidity, hazy memories of words said.
Raising Diablo with sultry potions of dead.
Flashes of dancing... but I don't tread!
The horror, the dread...