bleeding lamb-like the split throat splaying

on temple steps for Set's quiet-dark smirks

among scam-based chakra shenanigans

the iron-scented mist of blood 

atonement propelled through bone-white air a mass of military-grade psychic driving

travelling by darkness fear-first 

 

deep in prayers of accidental blasphemies regrets melting salty on a quickly-creasing face threats 

from sinister familiar whispers 

searching through the portal 

you have become to praise the undying possibilities of chaos and even the most misty misphonia and true delusion fails 

to feed on me, the old feast of thoughts 

looking everywhere for someone 

who appears as me, a ghost

                                  with substance I'm sure

I was around here somewhere but

 

I'm always in the last place I look