Akin to the uttermost secluded
and depraved of what can be fathomed by the conscious.
No, I do not speak
if what you instinctively may utter muted.
And to even suggest an explanation
will be a hollow attempt to
the unavoidable commencement.
So, as the black dimension of the bleakest
of minds slowly eats its way
The crooked smile on the prey of death
Appears like whipped backs.
The joy of the joyless and the heart of the loveless.
The depth of the shallow and the mass of the hollow.
Never was I told that the void of venom
Is as complex as speaking without a tongue.
I must now take the step
Into the seamless thoughts of life/death eternal.
