Truly, a sight to behold.

At my black heart’s procession, a black echo of divinity
sings a melody that paints my life black (don’t lose me now,  don’t lose me now)
Not nearly a blackguard impression, this black sensuality
hands with nails painted black, run over a black blemish upon pale skin

Sweetly monumental, the taste of your lips
scented of pressed flowers and a peach to touch
Wither with me now, as i wallow in past faiths (long broken)
No more of black censure, now measured in gold.

~ by cryhavok on March 31, 2008.