This desperation merits the search for the embers of the long-dead beast. 
The wait, too has been lengthy.  Now it seems the truth has suffered. 
And its Archons have perished under the weight. 
Had I the choice the suffering would have meant little. 
This deluge of pain is biding its time; for when there are no words, weeping becomes asked-for. 
At a better time mayhap this self-serving pride: unfathomable!  Why at this time has it returned? 
Beyond all attempts disgraced.  A mockery of enfeebled attempts, blanched the meaning of this hurt 
- and the walls now bare.  The beast must stay.  Where art thou, child?  Solace of companionship in 
darker moments when lately this Breaking threatens to engulf. 
Encircling me to the last, my own disembodiment. 
Yet strangely welcome: 
I speak of Home.

Shared speech with our flower.  She bade me closer with a venomous smile. 
No means to fend off the mist, and succumbed with quickness unknown. 
Enamoured as her whips struck their fiercest.  Did I lose face? 
Though in pushing forward, have I knocked myself three years back. 
Nearing the gentleman in traditional velvet, our departed Regina. 
Malady of cretins my undoing, in the strangle aid me, dearest Prince. 
Thy untouched beauty claims me from darkest relief. 
Without suppression of warning, a hand in subsequent disintegration: my plunge into the Abyss.

With clarity of early morn awakening have I watched you tearing into me in these dreams. 
Creaks of the shattered ship an apparition of irony. 
The sanguine gift of horizon claws inches too slow. 
The Lord in full rainment showers the famished with unbidden heat. 
And the fool cries out for a wasteful drop of the boiling wine, elixir! 
Permit me to share it from your succulent lips. 
Nearing death this uncorrupted body: let me remove your gossamer web. 
Darest I with this inflamed neck, and you showed me how it can be. 
Now let the willing neonate suffer for his Master. 
Even the bloodied hounds deserve the mercy of swift deliverance. 
If only for the last Hunt, dearest Prince: 
I beg of you: grant this deranged wish, 
with la sombra to cloak your eyes of balefire.
Come to me.

I am tired and find it difficult to breathe. 
A fervent wish, to return to the bosom of sleep. 
The taste of blood in my mouth will not leave. 
Often, a secret she would want to keep; it has become a familiar Presence. 
A well of blackness springing forth in surprise, 
from strange days it has knelt in obedience. 
And changed its hand against foul inhibitions to comfort us.

This blood reminds of such a bond that holds you and I. 
But lately have you forgotten?  As I have grown careless. 
Forsaking solitude’s guarantee, 
in exchange for the unwanted risk of passing from pain to Redemption. 
These dead patches of skin fall, silently as guarded whispers; 
as manna the hours march unbeseeched. 
Paths portend failure and infinite doom stare down, 
and corridors have led to where the manse lay. 
I have not been told.

Beside the gentleman,
unselfish in his daring, 
whose thin hands are worn not with the white of innocence. 
And whose face remains unharmed by the cold. 
Drawn towards this personage, 
through whom I was imperfectly consecrated. 
The ancient Presence shall not know failure until we have grown infirm and old. 
The farther I stumble, it leads unto Disintegration. Not yet nor will I ever be whole. 
In time with the first shedding of bitter tears. 
The night harbors a grudge and turns a deaf ear to pleas. 
Molten flesh and broken will:
how soon, grant a reprieve in the nascent sunrise 
the Caregiver lay open her bosom to receive a rare comfort so, 
then I grew quiet and remembered how it is to feel

confession : 
I am afraid of this Breaking.
 
An unwary juggernaut, it knocks and stomps on the creaking hull of the slipshod craft. 
Beneath its rumbling voice nothing but a note of tightly coiled, thinly veiled sarcasm. 
Cowering from behind the frame of age, a sustained weakening. 
Horrors beyond comprehension, loosen not your knife’s-end grasp on the only barrier betwixt us. 

Deliberate of other means to hasten this longing, and melt away the masques forever. 
Take only a moment to forgive -- but the memory of it remains entombed within the veins long swollen. 
With the palsy of grandeur: this poor beast retracts from such the spines and scars of a fearsome display!
 
So, has time been kind: and inner solemnity glows. 
An amusing half-jest you ventured, 
with its passage the significance of your clout hath not shriveled. 
Unaware of why the lonesome predators of our Kind have trembled. 
What lies a menace beneath the disquieting stare of the Broken?

Has this been by far the only surprise,
by now all their lies are razed by the Host, fury-bewitched fallen l’ange. 
Crashing into themselves, in a brazen flutter for the Crevica, for the rapport of consolation. 
In fearful hiding, thy secret shall always be safe with me.

for I have not a voice in the light shunned
and by virtue grotesque, only la sombra unexplained
an overwhelming and coveted Presence contained.

the epilogue:

What lies from beyond the Barrens, facing the east?
When you will not regale of the procession, how would this servant know? 
If at all this be his partisan.  How may his gratitude be shown: 
For your Grace let him be at the helm once too often, 
until by the nip of the wind at one’s nape sending shivers; 
the spirits soliloquize their demands. 
Your unfettered Passion leaves one weak without shelter. 
And by dominance of consumption: 
the furnace claims me Near of being Damned.

Shan’t give in to the cries that must only be imagined. 
But the Flood remains to prove its arrival. 
Always waiting, never wanting to leave. 
Needs must this be an illness, 
if not a callling closer to the serpent-dreams.

Failure, and the kill a prize
Bereft of all meaning
A martyr ennobled by the sight of blood
Who else was prey at the Feast?
 
A saccharine, gradual subsiding of bated breath, and no more tears. 
None await except one; bound, inverted by hands and feet. 
All in blessed patience, accomplished with the leash strained to near-giving in. 
The ragged tumbling in his chest, but it is of no importance. 
Nothing can harm the Avatar now, for the Advent of the Ascension is nigh.

Comprehend what all have waited for: 
and claim this much-besieged frailty. 
Depart no more and waste not grief nor expectations of a high-strung heart. 
Lead away and crave for nothing in return. 
This emptiness the only fountain of pale Hunger. 
Bloodied gown as She rose with evening’s freshness to feed. 
Thusly, my Prince - thou hast been most generous, concerning my sudden end. 
Dost thou now your most loyal Paladin hence from torturous penitenzia freed. 

Yours Truly,
Christian