In the heat of a full moon, on an endless night, watching through the windows of a soul redolently, I am still. I am bilious. Eidoion before me, thrust into my brain, against time, I am moribund. Dirge. Requiem. Lament for me, as I walk towards the uncertainty of death. Allay my horror, my fear, my dread welling within my chest. Step after step, dragged unknown specters, draped in the theatre of midnight ritual, a recursive scandal for an allege unknown. Dragged, placing foot before foot, in a futile resistance
