Deathdreamer

In the grey shrines district

The possession is taking a place

Cement shoes driving consciousness to the riverbed of spirits

A forced visit in a white theater

Filled with wax figures from the purgatory morgue

And the steep cliffs in the derelict, remote outskirts of being

Outskirts of being

And the gallows made of marble

And the library of intrusive thoughts

Reading whispering chants to sleep

For the horrible nightmares to come

It's a morphine for the vigilant

Like a cave once locked with a stone

Like Bermuda Triangle of thorns for a lost, wayfaring soul

Butchered by the night

A lump of flesh being just a sculpture

Carved by its black, starry knives

Robbed of all the light

A lump of flesh consisting of

Shivers and gouged out eyes

If there is fire at the hospice

I'm resilient to see

Sink deep

Bones dissolve in the caustic ordeal

If there is fire at the hospice

I stay silent and dream

Breathe deep

Skin dissolves in the linen of guilt

A shroud on the eyelids

A brick wall too thick

How does it feel like

Deathdreamer, asleep?

A whispering cataract

With a promise to keep

Does it feel feverish

Deathdreamer, asleep?