A Cold Crimson Mist
In a mystical graveyard fog primordial swamps weep
the Moon devours icy stars
clouded pastel hues arrive.
traversing into the universe vagabonds of a dark night
we desire tomorrow's pain
upon a visceral dream state.
a comet's tail stings the soul be monarch or revolutionary
anarchist or fallen sovereign
inhaling a cold crimson mist.
whispers in a turquoise haze hatred fears the homestead
floating in a prism of stains
piety carries a cross of fury.
as I wake with a sudden jolt, a lost queried fantasy,
cold lifeless strangled soul,
a hard grasp in the marrow.
Seething deep underground, of crispy labored breaths
buried alive it now seems,
into a vessel of deathly silence.
Life bequeaths a venom, heartless emasculated decree.
Within that cold crimson mist
Satan, from below, calls to me
yes, for I was hated in my day,
but now everybody loves me.