You seep through my veins
and my mask shifts to accomodate.
The past is swollen, bloated,
yet they worship it,
so we hide in alleyways
surrounded by decaying things–
A haunted Imago,
and misshapen wings.
3-21-19
Night has Fallen
A cradle lay abandoned
in a darkening room,
as one by one a dozen candles
expire near a forgotten shrine.
A bird of prey
perches atop a barren olive branch–
Lord of a dying habitat.
Night has fallen.
3-21-19
