Shane McKnight


Another Morbid Tale


And I sit at the table,
With the immortals,
A chalice heralds
The gothic chandelier
Illuminating the dimly lit room.
Sanguinary
We are sanguinary.
The golden chalice holds the blood of the immortals,
Intricate chalice in-laid with gemstones
I slice my wrists, with a silver blade,
And lean towards the chalice
She accepts my blood with a morose smile.
Tenderly, I hoist her
I offer her to the god of the four winds,
I bring her to my lips,
And taste life anew
The angels below,
Play their symphony
In hellish growls
And herald my indoctrination,
Into the cult of the immortals.
When the sun refused to shine,
And the moon refused to glow.
On that day,
I ascended the throne of immortality

Submitted: Saturday, August 17, 2013
Edited: Saturday, August 17, 2013
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