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Irony bit its lip, as the blood of tears....

Seventeen years of age and but a child still; lost amid the daze; haze?!

Standing in front of the silver glass, this somewhat handsome young lad

Popular, athletic, surrounded by girls whom adored; with razor blade in hand

The perfect night towards days tale, of the telling of two lives....

Longing to be loved yet, destroying it upon its very way; dusk to dawn

And back again; a posters child for the psychologically raped and maimed!?

Jekyll and Hyde only in the sense of the world outside, these broken windows

Wintery gust permeating his red rooms often, place in time; mind....

Traveling down the steepest mountain sides, amid the blackness of starless skies

Beauty, just another slash within the malignant corpse of his walking dead?!

As hearts became casualties strewn with his very own alongst this, foraged path

Facing the daunting beast while as quickly becoming its mangled image; in like....

Peering back into these mirrored eyes afore such crimsons reflections

Always taunting and mocking and gnawing upon every life of which it can!?

Destined in turn for a season passing suicidals asylums; temps revolving doors 

But even there the shadows of poisoned lingered to be fed; insatiable their thirst

Bled, in the wake of locomotions spellbound overdrive; this macabre....

Fast forward now as the decades journeyed to impart; mirrors, images, conceptions 

Ironies muse; and not so innocent anymore nor helpless, hopeless or naive?!    

Instead of a razors slicing edge at hand tis but that of a flaming sword; given  

Beyound the valley in the taste of death anointed; into, this fiery fire formed....

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...."A Childs Tears of Clay" ~

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