Poetry

The stone cold feeling
of betrayal and pain,
Thy worm body,
Sweet and pale,
Covered in infinite form
of dark red veil.
 
Long black cloud took over the sky
And the Moon lost her absolute might,
Leaving, in the dark,
Perfection that used to be mine.

And now, from Thy rotten body
Divine objects grow,
Breaking through the rotten flesh,
Leaving misery and cold.