Black Bliss/Reiterated Rewrite

 

Who would think in this final waiting place              
To have the care to spurn such a sweetly destructive embrace?

While ever standing in-between       The extinguished hope and faded dream
Contemplating amidst the flame and ashes
Of what I was supposed to be

And in this place, of what consequence
Is anything at all
There’s no air, no breath, no circumstance
That may efface the lost and fallen

Though perchance the capacity to enjoy happiness
May be measured by the times endured
Of the Devil’s kiss

Though come to to dance round again and tempt with this
Inescapably intoxicating              Permeating, Black Bliss

Slowly turning heart and vein stagnant and so old
By only listening intently
to the mournful dirge of soul       In so thick a darkness
That it is felt on skin
By the hand of sorrow
The spirit caving in

And who would think in this final waiting place                     To have the care to spurn such a sweetly destructive embrace?

Yet for naught.                      But the meaningless, burning flesh  An incomprehensible sickness
Engraved within the wounds set fresh

Having descended                   to become darkness’
very closest friend
By the most ill compensation
I pray that this will be my end

And he’s promising fire, speaking of desire
Held on by so thin a string
Light has long since been expired
My former enemies intimately beckonig

Death and his cleverly suggestive companions
Continually beseech
I give myself into their hands
And that into to keep

And in this place, I care not for resisting.

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