Doomed to the precarious path I have chosen,
know not if regret has been spilled forth,
with every slip of the tongue,
betwixt in such a state,
to seek a solid blessed moment,
for tranquil contemplation,
tear at the abyss,
bleed ink upon paper,
pen in hand,
as I bathe,
purify my sinful mind,
stain seas to black,
dispel like scattered glass,
then arise and undress,
redress before the one face,
upon the horizon,
that causes wanderers to go mad,
the halls grow silent,
as my gut grows uneasy,
I feel a presence,
steadily,
but silently,
thrusting knives,
into my back from behind,
I turn,
to a ghastly phantasmagoric vision,
before the windowsill,
perching,
on nothing,
but midnight air,
looming,
into the other side,
for it has no reflection,
lusting after dusk,
eager of eroticism,
or murder,
God forgive its poor soul,
for it has no morals,
nor humanity,
but preys,
it has become,
a solitary theatre mask,
wandering amongst the fog,
seeking an audience,
or amusement,
arousal,
from the lively,
I unhinge,
open the door,
and seek its direction,
an empty stage,
as the rain scours,
down around me,
I can't help but contemplate,
as my heart,
drops in terror,
if I,
myself,
am doomed to the same fate,
some cruel omen,
shown too late