Your strange auras
Emit a glow I’ve not seen
With these rotting eyes, nor touched
With ever-more rotting fingers.
What a horror, in meager contours,
Drawn around your idle form.
An outline that masks your fragility
Whenever you’ll wake up.
With eyes revealed for a grave,
The listless shape of your countenance
Expressing the bliss that comes with the feeling of death.
For what sort of breath
Do you emit
After the time you decided to die?
Hatred is a creation
Of both men and beast.
I’ll fold my arms, evenly
Around your heavenly form,
And tear down all walls,
That seek to stop us,
From dying together.