You with your hungry tongue,
like a worm, wriggling from the earth,
twisted since birth,
in unquenched mirth.

You with the needle teeth,
chomping, gnashing mastications.
set in wheedling pervasions.
such a foul foundation.

You with the feasting eyes,
shriveled stalks afloat,
roving irides to toat,
in wretched anecdotes.

You with the leech lips,
slithering on your face,
in grin or frown, to taste,
your bile an ink-dark trace.

You with the ravenous loins,
a keening wail that echoes,
turned slowly into bellow,
time-old, tragic libretto.

You with the pitted heart,
hollow reverberations,
found lacking as a haven,
where bleed your susurrations.

Your desire is sepulcher-bound.


Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 22nd of Haernos, in the year 493 MA.