Death - wake from the sweet
dream of surrealism.
dementia embodied in butterflies,
fleeing from the capturers - the light.
frolic away in the delicate
pit of fucked souls,
singing the tune of epitaphs.
comfort - devil wings and angel horns,
wrapping up in cold blood.
All I can say:
etiquette of decaying minds
dwindles down to an icy fire.
Be careful where you rest your head.