This edge of insanity in my brow that weeps of none the poison,
That breaches me in what haste that never sung nor the venom made,
Frail at my behest gave me breath of last for hence his vision,
To curse my err and sink me deep into pillars of the unknown fade,
Sweeps me from the ground towards the light as sought to have made,
As sought to have made, and made mine own what darkness ere rape,
Grief mistook my name and bestowed me another; how solemn to have laid,
Soothingly once said of my once slown eyes at vain try escape,
Brief he shook me and for what seconds pass had mine to be convinced,
Brings me before the borders of pain and pleasure as I step forward,
For none other than my last love that grabs me motions backward,
Declares that none but the love conjured shall be preached; but
If that indeed is my path to default to the most sensual of all, lo;
Am only human, and so I pity the pain that weeps in pleasure,
Once he said and proudly with apothetic measure what ill tactile used,
To have spread his wings far and wide to declare a better path perused,
Shunned but none the fate transpires for love beguiled his in pressure,
Pretentious then, but so forgiving; yet for none in comparison to one anew,
Shall bring me towards the newer world and leaves the society at rest,
My heart indeed professes the desire for neither society nor attest thee,
That arrest my body and soul towards the den I shall walk downward,
Ere return shall thus under my brow return anew.
Indeed, for no regrets made at the conquest of my very foundation,
Brought, and none but the bereft had slewn the pain that there once was,
But as I descend further, I see no light before me but him;
As I reach the chamber, I concede my fate to pleasure and the latter to pain.
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