Fixation on the Narrative

Sifting through your cum-drenched entrails

In search of prayers to see you off

It's a crime, really, to have torn skin

So soft

But hell's a bitter palace that I've seen for too long

Haunting in my mind's eye

I can't escape, it's bloody

Maw

A quiet and cold place to leave our thoughts behind

Fill it with locked doors and pictures of better times

Whose doors only open for a cruel and foul song

In your mind, you sang it well

In your mind