Pulse

Take my hand, for I shall lead you to deserted lands.
Watch me as I cramp the style of reality.
Come mellow down next to me within this ignorance.
Keep a crooked smile as we caper about knee-deep in contempt.
Allow me to guide you to a place where agony and deception collide.
To a place where transparence is a language spoken among all.
A place where tainted blood trickles from virgin ears.
The trough at which parasitic love affairs feed from.
Where innocence is siphoned from futile veins by the fingertips of filth.
A spot that is acknowledged for the aftertaste of fresh defeat,
stimulated by the torrid kiss of death.
The decomposition of tongues,
masked behind the lips of demise.
The vastness of hostility’s appetite,
licks the tears pooled together
to form that of apathy upon your face.
Jagged fangs that ferociously puncture
through pitiful souls,
shredding them apart.
Will you join me my fair,
to venture the cold chambers of your heart?
Take my hand, for I shall lead you to deserted lands…