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The call has come to overflow my rancour.
Sinister touches darkens my thinking.
Messenger of cold remorse.
Must I bear this Evil
The full moon shines its light unto the flesh of open wounds.
The transformation ends, in all its wonder.
And cometh from afar not in entire forgetfullness and not in utter nakedness.
But trailing clouds of glory.
Not from God do we come our murderess father.
FEEL.
HIS.
BODY.
As your nails cut deep into my heart.
The blood I shed quenches your aching thirst.
Drink, my sweet beloved and the honey I flow forth will be as poison
rotting its way through you.
