INK Rescript #6

I wait for the significance of this to dawn. Moss grows around my feet. Glaciers form and melt.



Seeking solutions, she is untamed.

A grotesque shadow of former self,

displays of ineptitude to be Holy.

Gifted and graced,

shunned and disgraced.

There are no angels here now;

no purity.

Blackness illuminates the midnight hours;

night stalkers come out to pray.

A half cast sinners serendipity,

not a single word to say.

Confessions in a pew,

in a box that calls on false hope,

false belief and ignominy.

She will not follow… I will not follow.

An eternal loyalty to Lucifer,

with no name said in vain.

I’ll keep my sins and steal my way,

just don’t rattle the chain.

Up ↑

%d bloggers like this: