SHADOWS LACE: Torment Snatched
And the water just can't get hot enough to burn away metaphysical itch, on the ground words exhaled, writhe and twitch, "You've misbehaved; NOW, CUT THE SWITCH."
Something that looks a lot like love mutated scurries across my face and in the corners of my decaying smile, silhouettes of dead joy and shadows lace
Facets of my emotions are numbing like cauterized nerve endings, becoming as invisible as a child's pretendings, my heart scarred with keloids after all the mendings
And tissue in that condition finds it difficult to absorb anything, be it prayers or hatred or loss's sting, even memories of that song she'd sing
Anything that ever mattered was covered in the blood that spattered, speckles of red like rain pitter pattered and, in that moment, my entire being shattered
A husk, a replica of humanity, boiling to the brim with pure insanity, saliva smells like toxic brutality and pain can't affect my calloused heart, whatever the kind
But Torment constantly licks my mind, lucid thoughts that ran in packs are now impossible to find and against this bottomless stupefaction, my molars clench and grind, I have been snatched
Where my compassion lived and breathed, something wickedly idle and aimless has hatched and in my ears all through the night, delirium rabidly, frantically scratched
My emptiness, insensitivity, and iciness can't be matched and the holes in my emotional syllogism can never, ever be patched
And somehow, I still hunger, even though I am sure I am dead-
Ravenous growls occupy my stomach while finned starvation swims through my head
I gnaw and I consume anything I can acquire, but nothing will stay down, so nothing can ever extinguish the edacious fire
Brittle, brittle skeleton is piercing through my seven layers and this is the product of my old misalignment with devilish, sinful game players
Smoke in and then smoke out, it's carried away along the winter wind, beneath wakeful hours, I have been pinned, I am so tired, my energy's skinned
When something like a soul is swapped for whatever means the most, He sees it instantly from where he sits, from His thundering Heavenly post
He is more than spirit-
Beyond spectral; His Holy Ghost-
When one of His children falls wayward, down His face, golden tears coast
The foul and rotten and ill-begotten may have sliced away her soul, perhaps she crumbled beneath life's toll, driven to Hell like a sin-saturated mole
Or maybe she just walked away from her dear, beloved Father
Whatever the case, she is the flames', another fallen daughter