The Tortured Poet and the God of Names
The tortured poet eats his shadow
A song made for survival
The receipt you’re given
After you sell your silence
To the God of Names
The only name left in this space
Belongs to Him who makes shadows dance
Who creates a space where the dead pass
Who pins your ghost to the threshing floor
Death, is what they name Him
To Him all things proceed
The tortured poet calls upon Death
To be his muse
He wonders why when life is all he feels
There are no right answers here
There are no right answers in a Sea of Names
That’s how a poem can be beautiful
Even when it’s inspired by the hellish realms
It acts on instinct
Like Death
It moves toward its own completion
Live your life in such a manner
That rainwater won’t touch you
Eat your own soul until you are barren
And wanting again
Drink the blood of moribund specters
Who feed on your blood to come to life
Drink the emptiness of their machinations
Drink the solemn swelling promise of your cycle
Become the spirit of rebirth and understand
That Growth itself is eternal
But so is Death
