(no subject)

 

Here we sing the song of decadence,

we listen to its tune and hear our muse

raging towards our fragile souls -

the song has a beat which rises

to the beast's proximity to our heartbeat -

why the muse should be a beast may be

because of our animal intentions

with each other - blood-devouring appetite

for a usurper of the heart's throne.

We will always cut our hands with him,

let the blood pour down as if it were

a fluid more valuable than the liquid diamonds

we feast upon but once in life

and let us rage back, towards our muse,

for a swordfight to answer our primal urge.