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Dismal Infatuation

by Ireshrine

on Lycanthropia (2016)

Beneath the surface of my passion so vile
I force the living dead to drink of my bile
A bitter wine indeed with a putrid bouquet
A sickly sweet aroma laced with sex and hate
A dire need I search for peace in this windowless
Room I find my fear has sealed the door and my
Anguish has made it my tomb
No I won't I refuse to die here cold alone with a guilt
Laden atmosphere ill tear at the wall till the light
Appears ive abandoned all hope and yet I'm not pure
I have grown tired with my desires insipid
Love is like pain it's not offered it's inflicted
By the hand that feeds you the sickness
I gouged out my third eye so how could I have predicted
That this pattern would never fucking end
Or that this dismal infatuation would become my
Oldest friend
I lose myself so gracefully to the throes of ecstasy
One thing's perplexing just who is sleeping next to me
In solitude I was seething now I'm deaf
From all the screaming I can't stop the bleeding
Somehow I'm still breathing
Existing without a history
Dying never having lived
Once again I am brought to the altar
You could never heal my faith
Once again I am brought to the altar
You could never feel my hate
Once again I am brought to the altar
Once again make me your martyr