singing lascivious it worked unhindered
bloody hands a night artist
and only the stench
from that stained doorway
in the floor
killing the music
fostering a malignant
almost catholic
panic
so past a point of no return that
in waves
the most sacrilegous arousal
came where, now subdued,
once lay all guilt, a lie..
and legion and alone
it was in rapture
fallen in the night
face of the scourge
that coveted the weak
the sycophant
oblivious
of the delerious deep
so ill prepared
for a sitting
from this walking sin
all counterintuitive silence
and frantic processing
in the face of it -
drooling dramatic irony
as the only
possible
moment passed-
and by the time
they knew..
theyd missed
their chance
to run
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