Clockwork
Purgatory paradigm, glass menagerie, house of cards fell with but a breath. Gums flap, meat trap slaps, nothing ever changed except for the faces and the names. Benighn, ineffectual, psuedo intellectual.
Abbadon destroyed the world, the blade rose from it's mouth, and severed the husk. Oz isn't quite over the rainbow and there really is no place that is like home.
One swings the flag of murder. Beneath the living, within the cold earth, within the graveyard. It's a charnel house whose foundation rests in the silt; slowly sinking, drowning, dying between the span of moments, dying meekly until dead, not with scream but only a whimper.
The skin is shed.
There is no ghost in my bed, there are no ghosts in one's head. One's fires are for the living, one burns the dead and the dying. a place in the dirt, a cold (s)hell, a tombstone for a soul, a coffin for a heart.
Abbadon destroyed the world, the blade rose from it's mouth, and severed the husk. Oz isn't quite over the rainbow and there really is no place that is like home.
One swings the flag of murder. Beneath the living, within the cold earth, within the graveyard. It's a charnel house whose foundation rests in the silt; slowly sinking, drowning, dying between the span of moments, dying meekly until dead, not with scream but only a whimper.
The skin is shed.
There is no ghost in my bed, there are no ghosts in one's head. One's fires are for the living, one burns the dead and the dying. a place in the dirt, a cold (s)hell, a tombstone for a soul, a coffin for a heart.