• There is a tale
    a narration that runs like flame
    a saga of the repugnance
    of my quintessence.

    My heart
    my cognizance;
    as sombre as the sallow effulgence
    as dank as the grave.

    Of a pilgrim of Lucifer
    cursed to a life of wretched
    bereft to the twisted hands of predestination
    to nothingness of insignificancy.

    It gives up hope
    like the tale of the Cimmerii
    doomed to an endless entity
    that none can begin to conceptualize.