The Heir of Curses

All these medals will never revive the souls that were reaped. Ceremonious honors shimmer, but the blood of martyrs has dried. No tribute can console the mothers whose hearts are crushed by the death of a son. Not all are worthy of the celestial spark that carries them. Some merely burn through their wretched lives and their time in this dimension. They sow chaos, ruin, destruction, and ashes, Upon mountains of remorse and lamentation. Silence weighs like a burden of lead upon my cage of flesh. Darkness seeps into me from the womb. Human savagery has butchered my dreams, leaving my convictions incorruptible. I hear the clamor of walls—thick, oozing, damp with fear and terror. Time devours me, like a ravenous hyena with pendulum fangs. My sky is a filthy slab, my horizon a windowless wall. My life, my name, and my memories fade, letter by letter, Since the bearer of lights opened my eyes. I lay the stench of my transgressions upon the cracked lips of a putrid world. I am the shadow of a man, a vestige of wrath nailed to the ground. Nightmares whisper—they tell the tales of those who fell before me. The blood of the condemned floods my cold sweat. I bear the scars of these forsaken souls. I am a calamity, the heir of curses, Of ravenous chains and whips. I will save this divine flame through the nightmares of my oppressors. A few nightmares to purge, And a few ghosts to silence. My demons are restless. I hoard fleeting vanities with every blasphemy. I have learned to wield truth like a weapon of war In the impure hands of fanatics. My life on earth is catastrophic, For my reflexes have been demonic.