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As the razor strokes the flesh upon my wrist -- the blood of a "martyr" trickles
down...painting scarlet patterns on sanguine fingertips...this is thy blessing
which rests upon thy lips...lucerna pedibus meis...in aeternam...nunquam recordare
inveritas...the suffocating silence of the end...forever...tristesses...My days
pass away like a shadow...As my lifeblood pools and seeps beneath the lychgate...so
does your love fill my coffin...and lust unminding slowly drives each nail...so
cease thy curses across my breathless lips...Lucerna pedibus meis
...lacrimosa...nunquam recordare inveritas...The suffocating silence of the

Consecrate the ceremony. Or bear the oblation. See you this maiden whore. With whom you wish to copulate. You see her beauty - I see the skull beneath the skin. I smell the fragrant dusk of graves and the yellowed linen. “Calamity of fate!” – the portents cry. She longs to join the earth. Until all is but an elysian field (beset with glistening urns). A desolate, echoing cinerarium rattled by the winter wind. Merciless, I raise the cup. I beseech it be filled. I am the celebrant in this rite of shrouds.

We abscond to ashes and dust occludes us all.

Veiled in sunwept kisses; sullen, weak; you smiled... "You must bid me gone, love"
- frailty-wracked you cried... Still upon your deathbed, your hand I held in
mine... Caressed with woe your flaxen hair; felt your last, aspirant sigh ...
Goodbye... No flights of angels bring you to your rest... Travailed in sickness -
in death enrapt and blessed... Now nothing remains of your life, your time has
passed... Your anguish, your demise, your promise of rebirth... Solemn incantation
nor frenzied evocation... Did halt not your soul's apostasy... Lassitude upon me...
This lurid trial awaits me... I live on in wanton futility... And yet in my dreams

Scourged with whips, and thorn-crowned. Bear your cross on the way of sorrows. On these narrow streets your people leer and spit. “Rome condemns you, Her gods condemn you!” Stripped naked and bound with rope and iron. Christendom dies with you on this hill in Judea. And is reborn – crawling through the Calvary filth like flies on carrion. Tetha malkuthak – your kingdom come.

Son of Mary, we share the cup of struggle and betrayal. For your beloved of Earth revile me. They tear the flesh of my palms in deposition. And excoriate me without succor at the pillar of your church. Their baleful assurances have become the Via Crucis. Where my body is bloodied and my frail form broken. They have paved my path to Golgotha with usury and deceit. In Heaven as on Earth.

Salvation is famine, and faith - a hateful diadem. I await revealing beneath a mantle of heavenly silence. And to silence I shall return. They raise their nails to my wrists and cast lots for my worth. In their eyes I am the apostate. They bring the judgment of Caiaphas and the mockery of Pilate. They cast their derision – their damnation – as a spear into my side. And in a lifetime’s anguish it is accomplished.

Consecrate the ceremony.
Or bear the oblation.
See you this maiden whore.
With whom you wish to copulate.
You see her beauty - I see the skull beneath the skin.
I smell the fragrant dusk of graves and the yellowed linen.
"Calamity of fate!" - the portents cry.
She longs to join the earth.

Midst waves of mute dejection...crawl upon malicious spines of dull fury...rage
burning in silence sought by my own wretched heart...born from the ruinous passage
of time...the truth of loss hurls its clenched fists at the fragile strands of
abandoned faith...You are the night...come forth in endless rapture...you are the
night...to sheild thy fallen crest...entangled in the scented tresses of their
desireable women...soft graceful eidolons of light -- if only they were more than
fleeting ghosts...apparitions faded by time and dust...stirring in dark fields of
rememberance where tristful scenes of long departed loves are endlessly

Obscured in shadow and ash, beneath November's sunless skies... There you
stood...pale flesh trembling in the chill of autumn's last days... Alive with
grief, for sorrow never rests in the wake of death... The windswept branches
painted your face in a thousand dancing silhouettes... So many regrets...summoned
with a single tear... So lovely, yet so alone...adrift in a sea of dying flowers...
Caress the cold marble, lost in solemn reverie... Remembering the brighter days,
forever out of reach... The setting sun sheds little warmth upon your grieving
heart ...Darkness falling, swift and silent...a cold and bitter rain ...Flee from

Rise. You promised life unending yet emptiness remains. Fleeting traces of sheol. Sutures bind the eyes and seal the mouth. And the trocar’s incision disembowels. Around me they lay their hands in prayer. Through me, they touch eternity. Death is my religion. As Lazarus, I rise. Embalm the soul in darkness. And cross the field of flies.

Rise. I abhor you. Reject you. Lament you. Absolve you. Laid to rest, no flesh shall be spared. Your kingdom’s crown lies in rotting soil. And your servants moulder in the earth. Your salvation never was nor is. It will not be again. Death is my religion. As Lazarus, I rise. Entomb the soul in darkness. And cross the field of flies.

A deep and dreamless sleep unite... This Fragile heart and sacrifice... To cut the
throat in praise of sin... A bastard lie begets the end... There is no life but
that death allows... There is no will above the gnawing, writhing worms... It takes
us all both young and old... A wall of voices seething cold... Shapeless forms
scurry amongst shadows entwined... Bearers of anguish exist within this desolate
heart... Breathing within its walls, I hear them faintly moaning... A choir of all
faith departed....infernally droning... The language of the dead, the ones whom the
light has forsaken... Abandoned in tenebrous dream, never to awaken... A fleeting