Innoculate against the forces
of the dark spectrum and it's Siren tune.
It's sickly pale green and gold hues. Monochromatic scale of hallucinogenic hopelessness.
Uses your Pride's Holden Magnet in it's vacuum.
A fog in the distance closes in,
like a Harpy in Venusian Projection,
streaming obscenity,
zooming in mirror of it's dirty vanity.
Principalities stalk the bog of your ruin.
Embalming your soul into insanity, Heretic Cocoon.
The Dance of Death's pompous Melody.
Dreamweaving sutured organ,
piping your fog into Mummy Womb.
Nightwalkers overlook the ritual.
Demon Satellites orbiting your perdition.
They argue this violation is consensual.
Taking not in_- the adorn of light's prism.
But staunching irreverence, a shadowed-stench where the light bends, grotesquely mishapened.
The Lord of the Flies-traps closes as if nothing happened.
Rainbows end.
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