The Cadaver’s Requiem

the abyss is your wornout teeth

creaking and gnashing at four in

the morning—deathly eves whisper

in alluringly sweeter nevermores

as your mind draws a point blank

chalky and arid, the rewind is set to

fit the blame and delirium quite sure...

lights dragging the diabolical taste

of cancer and firelight away to hell

as it burns for the hearts of infidels

though carry not the cursed hurt nor

wretched inferno that only means to

submerge its sharp, bleeding claws

deep down into your tender sternum

to slowly pick your entrails apart as it

would a grand and delectable banquet;

cerise mucilage trickles in between the

crook of your damned eternal frown,

moulding your seething madness into

a scream of inscrutable evisceration.

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