A tale of crimson

Barely wakeful shadow, 

A breath on frosted glass, 

Whispers in dark corners, 

As through this life I pass. 

Echoes of lost memories, 

Waning candle light, 

Distant tolling of the bell, 

I walk into the night. 

Haunted by old faces, 

Faded images of yore, 

Tormentors, Lovers, all are here, 

I stand before the door. 

The creeping, chill blessed fingers, 

Shuffling ghosts, so cold, 

Caress is turned to dark embrace, 

In their arms, enfold. 

Insidious and vicious, they, 

Ooze poison through each pore, 

Piercing nails, they crucify, 

Burrowing to core. 

Bruises flower, purple- gold, 

Weeping sores leech red, 

Crimson tears from countless eyes, 

Precious fluid fled.

Scarified, then scourged and flayed, 

The inner self laid bare, 

Outer self, defaced and maimed, 

In self-concocted lair.  

Remnants of my skin, so torn, 

Hangs in scarlet string, 

Cleansed am I by ritual death, 

But still to life I cling. 

My ghosts must now depart once more, 

Retreat, in cold and grey, 

I am reborn, on altar laid, 

By Angels of the day, 

My sacrifice, my penance, 

My torment, to endure, 

I come to you, as new-born, 

To pass beyond the door. 

Into the blessed sun, walk I, 

Once more unto the light, 

Until it will be time again, 

Of dark ghouls in the night. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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