We fall inside a sphere of masquerade and fear,
Streaked blood and dust all through, like little walls
Built of vanishing cards and formless souls.
Insistent and persistent lies, I idolize;
Above all else I worship any proof
That lies are real, more than the ugly truth.
And gladly death would take me in his purple hand
And squeeze me till I bled like warm, fresh juice
Into his cup. Look up; there's no excuse.
Full twenty thousand years, and half that time spent lost,
A laugh cracked out, unnoticed, edged, serrated.
Those who can hear it now are overrated.
An eye turns upward glinting like diamond facets:
Cold, wet, made of white marble with red veins...
And devoid of all that heals or sustains.