A limbless lament
This dark and frigid fawn blur 
The bite of a winding quod, 
And it’s harsh bark, grievously familiar.

Appendages absent
In a ghastly revelation, 
That hollow ache
Like a severed love.

Impulses taunt me,
With what was once flesh, 
As I lie to the mind,
That once knew best.

Perhaps this is not my belonging, 
Rather, a coincidental placement 
Of an unfortunate woe.

But that ivory shell stares blankly 
Wailing at me,
Securing my inescapable translucence.

My rosary ring resting
In the cast of crimson skies, 
Under the silhouettes
Of unforgivable hickory bones.

Perplexed and thwarted, 
The senses struck
With an onslaught of 
Questions and thoughts.

The flash of fire and rage
Scarcely paint an image
Of a paranoiac scrambling.
In a world where floating means burning.

Cognitively walking,
Through vaults and crypts
A labyrinth of lagmented motions,
I am searching without wanting.

Yet seeking blind with closed eyes,
I see truth build sharp and bare.
A cist of my pride, a seething enormity 
With which eyes of life fell torpid.

Though it is not one but many, 
It’s All whose musing
Is united in corruption.

Claims to the divine
and the sacred blood
of He who knows all.
He who knows cowards
From adherence and believers.

No man lives the words 
of which they preach. 
So feel my affliction 
drag beneath thy skin.

They look and find
The woman they have carnaged
And yet they ask -
who put Bella in the Wych Elm?