These ashen bones burn eternal
Their baseless foundation shattered like so many shards of glass
Filled with roots that twist and turn
Always reaching
Yearning for the blush of life
But there are no temples here
No high or holy places
Only memory, and the religion of regret
✝
Here the endless chambers flower
Like some nightmarish fractal
Building on tomorrow and breaking all the while
In the center sits a thorn bush
In that bush lies an altar
And at that altar is an offering of bread, and crimson water
Both tainted by the death of what we once believed
• • •
The world fell
I tore my hands trying to lift it
That was five years ago
My palms have not stopped bleeding since