For Chloe, three slices of black Forrest Ham.
Her tired meows that ache, her kitten teeth blackened
And I pet her with a heroin chic hand.
I hear of children with hair that falls out like broom straw,
Lilac bruises littering their knobby knees
And I hear that they are forgotten in 2008.
We are adults now, for those that didn't perish
But we may still bounce from hotel to shelter
Or take cover in the Churches for sinners.
I still think of that feline friend.
The memory jolts me there, every night.
It is all I have; all I can give.
You see that was my ration for the day
And the hunger is eating my ribs.
Mother, she gives Chloe the iron boot
By tossing her to the Giant wilderness
I sob for what feels like fifty lifetimes.
I never see Little Chloe again.
So here I am again
Waiting on a deadly train
Facing raw elements freezing rain
Storming in heart and brain
I want time to go away
And blackness to soothe
I wish I could hit replay
And erase the memory of the day
We met,
Pray let me forget.
You wrecked my heart and soul in vain
Going round and round in circles
Dropping crumbs to be found
Going in going out
Of sanity and of doubt
You talk about your death
And where I'd find your will
I may not survive you
Leave it on the window cill
I'm hiding in the dark
In the dungeons in my mind
Safer there from all the demons
in you I find
Not even the bairns
Have refuge from your rage
You crushed us all
With your iron boot
For intrigue on your stage.
Sink down into the soil you maverick, and be calm.
If fear were a call to service,
still you would have raised no arms.
What acerbic wit and charm wont sate the ego that drives you,
ever farther from the home you have made in your too tight skin.
It is as good liars do,
Sharpen your smile into stalactites,
and twist your fingers into knots around the sins of the father.
Become him,
drive your name into the ground.
Abide yourself no more flagrant machinations,
and peel away the shroud of disillusionment.
I caution to the einzelgänger,
the survivor whose work leaves shreds of him behind,
to be carried away by the procession of drowned amber friends,
Embers, by default, to be stamped into ash by your iron boot.
Your altruism precedes you,
Your ruthlessness, a charm.
Your reputation scars you,
but your character is unmarked.
Sink down into the soil you maverick,
If fear were a call to service,
still you would have raised no arms.
To'aak crushed the skull of his sworn enemy, Mor Kaot, under his mighty iron boot. Taking
the Vaul Ash for his own, he raised the prize high, roaring his challenge to the skies.
Gods so high
You will be joining this weakling
For I am coming for you all
My rage burns
your shrines everyday
You can no longer hold me back
I am the Syka
Born to purge
Destined for glory
Send forth your legions so I may have sustenance for my journey to you
As was scribed To'aak was meant for glory
His campaign, it is fueled by fury
The Vaul Ash was his, the holy medicine of the Gods
No more shall they be blessed by immortality
He would claim their skulls
and devour their hearts
He was born into death and hate
None will be able to stop him on his conquest
It only ends when the Gods are dead
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