i hear
the chorus
sing
your praises
but no matter
how beautiful
the words
we both know
it is
my words
that constrict
your lovely
little
scar shaped
heart

every tragedy
written
line by line
down the
yellowed papyrus
of my soul
spells
a certain doom
as yet
untasted

so savor
the sweet songs
they sing
let them
fill you with
warmth
to chase
the chill
of my phantom
fingers
tickling
your cerebellum
a slow dirge
penned
by the devil
himself
buried beneath
that heavenly choir