penance

i.
   run me ragged blind
in through this
alone
as has been
and shall always be
by an undetermined fate
swept across,
long and leering
through this infinite jest
concocted of a vast emptiness
like no other
since time's ruthless
construct,
bound and dipped into
the broth of life,
timid and tearful
without escape
except for
only
        death
and quiet, reckless abandon.

ii.
   most luscious love,
bind me
with your tired gaze
in the haze
of fleeting moments
         not unlike
                 the minutes
we share
and tear
         away this reckoning
from withered limbs
where time's construct
begins
           and ends
with a fateful twist,
vertically along the wrists,
for there is no other time
as now.

iii.
   dearly demented,
                                hold onto
forever
             as a rose to its thorns
and mourn the grieving,
deceiving eyes,
devouring
                  our moments
not unlike the minutes we share
in lucid despair
closed off,
                  congealed
where we have healed
                                     over
from the scars and scabs,
keeping tabs
                     on sweet
                                    desolation.

iv.
   the decomposed and drowned
             for rancid revelations
                            revealed
             dementia;
                         dreary and draped
             in woeful tongues_;
   each minute
                       the last_;
   every second
                         its own unique torture.

v.
   the second hand
           ticks and tocks
upon weary clocks
the hour is at hand,
                                beaten
             hand
                  by beaten hand
until the gears
           are naught
                    but rot.

click away the downtrodden
into tiny flecks of disposable
pieces: revealed as
bent and pent beggars
beguiled,
                bellowing
                                 bombs
at the sun. unheard to deaf ears.

bent beggars
                     bound by time
in a timeless exchange
hand by hand,
beaten by the beating clock.

vi.
   sweetly
                tormented
         repenting for sins
                   yet conceived,
    relieved of this
                   tearful, tempting woe
and gleeful incompetence
     belittled by spikes through
     clenched fists
                 and torn tongues
           too scabbed over
                        to speak
of the nature of the beast
   that tries mightily to
       devour the
                   sour
                     blood and bones
of the illuminated
              shone bright by the
     shadow of its skin
         and the sin
              yet not conceived.

vii.
   drown not the
               weary in sickness
nor deceit
         or let them fall
             tumbling
                       to parched earth
cracked by careless fists
            and bellowing sun.

O' for the water runs cold
                     in this
particular corner of
                              HELL.