A QUAKY TRIP ON BADASS MUSHROOMS, OR HOW TO CONQUER DARK WITH THE LIGHT STILL ON AND BLINKING
I will burn in flames for you,
Singe myself, be fleshed
Until the ash and chafing of my bones,
The leather peels of my skin,
Are but dirt and dust on a scorching floor of hell.
I will cut a thousand scars for you,
Mark myself, be Kain
Until enough blood is shed for all
The atrocities I take name for –
I know them all, be sure to know, in this heart of mine worn well.
I will drink the foulest of venoms for you,
Sword myself, from the inside, out
Until there is nothing but puddles:
A burial ground for all my sin and gall;
Inability to mean anything more rewarding
Than a collision of crimson and absinthe –
Bloody, surreal, painful, forgotten hopefully some day soon.
I will then still drown a violent death for you,
Revile myself, quake in cold
Until the pinnacles of crystals old
Pierce my every cell and bleed my whore;
DNA, chaos in code, into a plunging steep abyss.
I will allow agony for all of you;
For the I that I once knew – perhaps was meant to be,
But the weather calls on me; erosion.
I wither, because I’ve failed to protect any of you
Even from the slightest hit – the vast one of my very own hand.
I will, therefore,
accept a million times
all of my cruel demise for you –
And still it won’t absolve me of my haunting
You.
I will be the hunted,
In seclusion,
In solitude.
In death,
For all of you.