In his eyes, a fading light,
Like dusk falling into night.
Crimson drips from rusty blade,
A pooling sheet on which he laid.
Cooling embers in his eyes,
slowly ebbing a last flicker, than dies.
His throat's slick smile with death,
A poignant moment on a last breath.
He nothing more then carrion art,
My trusty instrument's navigating chart.
Upon a canvas made of skin,
He my Metallica mannequin.
A tool hungers for sanguine red,
Numerous slashes from which he bled.
Bloodletting to the last drip drops
Till the defiant heartbeat stops.
His essence fades like my rage,
Like drying strokes on a page.
Another sonnet darkly versed,
Quenching a parched artist's thirst.