Renounce your pleasantries
Of too many yesterdays.
Make your moment special
With the pain I will bring.
Thorns in your hair
Of a savior, unaware.
Make your moment a musical dance,
Free, with ebony sculptures,
Upon bloody puddles
Where reflections show conceit,
You’ll see what can come to be.
Love is a twitch
Of your fingers in this Hell.
Your wilted form
To the ceiling
Where you shall be torn.
Grants you formality.
I am explicit to tell you the truth
Of everything mostly brand new.
You have given children their teeth,
That they might bite the breast.
I have laid you there,
The expanse is wild, before you.
The dream is forgotten, behind you.