Organs and copper pipes
Simmer out yelps
Of deadly lust.

A careening film of
Stiff people, with wet eyes
Black shawls,
And oiled top hats
Sing along with
Bloody Mary's in hand.

Ebony lace upon my cheek,
My room is small and quaint,
Roses and lilies keep me
From the door.

Pushing harder and harder.
Not a budge or
Existant change
In my grave position.

Closing the eyes
That only perceive
Closely fitted cedar walls,

I am lifted...

...and lowered.

I hear cries of joy

Sounds and rhythms,
so familiar...

Straining to hear a comforting
breath, a soft stanza of
reassurance...

...he speaks.

"Why Darling?...
Why was my love not enough...
to keep you alive?"

Filthy drops of salty morose,
Fills this wooden tomb
With trials of the
knife.

Repeated eerie songs made only
for the funeral of the
Dark Lily Bride,
scratched and scarred,
And pregnant with a
Painful secret.

Crazed is the crowd,
Painted with ashen relief
That the bride is
Dead and the poor
Berserker groom is left
Alone to purge her selfish crime.

(And so he walks, and crawls into the
silken casket, next to his corpse bride...
--
He solemnly cries upon her breast, and closes the
door, in hopes of blocking out the cheers and sunshine)