A Thousand Funerals

During the pre-evening liturgy Betwixt a shabby stall Irate I sit scribing seasoned verses Silent as an infant in production Whilst the slaughtering of pacifism Across the universe ‘tis my soundness Perforated by the eerie current ‘Twas delivered via the vapors of her breath Curtly, such graphic memories gnaw the very bones Of what I had thought to be timeless romance Though once again I’ve been forsaken To drink all ‘twas left unsaid and unknown