A mirthsome gold; these lives you hold you'll hide away. The lidless casket, the guilded lining, shines in the old light, gleams in the muted bay. These lines have been etched in bone, carved and faded, stretched as taut as stone. Draped across the moonlit base, a mirrorbed reflects the faces bright in the moment, wide and awake with fright. Seared by the scorchlight, lives are worth we'll trade.
We couldn't cower too quickly. We couldn't bear to brave the gaze of the end. And when the creep of flames engulf the all, you'll swallow them whole. You'll intake this bile, and you'll reap what I've soiled, what you've sown. So have the stilted grown.
Bury me in all the filth and shame, and all the moments filled with them. It's all the same. I'll give it away. I'll taint my flesh and you've naught but hell to taste. Tear it away. The rot is palpable. The waft escapes.
The bread we broke sustaining you. The blood, you choked, the draining flu. No sign that anyone knew. Gods you hunger, so tear us wide and eat your fill.
You look so tired. I couldn't save for you some raw meat. Your limbs are wires, but all I have for you is thawed. You'll get your means. You've earned these seeds. Now when you salivate you'll bleed. Drawn to the stench of plebes who dulled their sheen to match a hope we couldn't feel.
This is all we are: a listless gold, the lifeless old, frail in the moment, scared as the eyes reveal their sheen. Be careful what you hold. The flesh has turned, your wretch was earned. Bright in the moment, wide and awake with fright, seared by the scorchlight, our lives are worth we trade.