I’ll build your porcelain altar;
A testament to fragile faith and delicate beauty.
i.
Holyheaded and gracefallen,
I wander back to a land of beasts,
Retrieving that which lays long lost there.
My violent innocence no longer takes refuge,
But has wrested brutal kingship amongst the many vile here.
That heinous capacity of inner child turned little arsonist.
A world beneath a deluge of ash and cinder,
Where glass grows petals stained,
And the hellmouth still whispers,
The very cause of vicious severing.
Whereas once I pulled the blade from tongue,
Loosened lips, led astray,
I am here now to collect myself.
Every arrogance and misery has born it’s fruit for this;
A lamblooded monster, between my scripture sanded ribs.
All the more necessary for crimson pewblooming heart.
ii.
Lazy with lovely sunlight,
We stumble into summer in a Country of Gardens again.