Chapter 1
Who planted this mephitic seed within?
From what wretched womb did this feeling sprang?
Like a deleterious infant it grew and we named it “love”,
Now fully ripe we play with it and dance this “dance of the macabre”.
Nefarious sentiment this between you and I,
My life was your demand, should I have lost myself to attain you?
It was never my intent to harm you…
Though hard as I tried it seemed, as if I could only make you cry.
Like poison ivy entwined to me you were,
You were the venom from which I gladly drank,
Thoughts of you, like razors cut wounds to deep for healing, words elude me now,
They flicker in my mind and perish long before they can be pronounced.
Loving you was courting death.
-Crescens.
