Drenched in the musty stench of blissful oblivion
I wither into the realm of Death's immortal pavilion
Where sand dunes of gentle musings pulsate from every mourner
And the drone of stone cold dirges reveberates from all six corners.

Promenading in the depths of Midnight's sombre day
I vomit an irascible thread of iridescent minty-gray
As it flops to the ground, so delicate and chaste
I glance down to find a silvery chain laced around my waist.

Enamoured of the Stygian light the moon bleeds from its core,
An unforeseen dread infiltrates me as my breath glides out the door
For there in the moonlight my anomaly stares back at me
Around my waist is my own arm wound constringingly.