Angelcide

Here I lie, so cold
For the world, its needles have run dry
Drained of the poisons of life, I lie numb in a pool of blood
To forsake a meaningless existance

Unhollwed are ways I shed this flesh
Cursed to misanthropy and such masoquist ways
I escape the grasp of a long dead god
To a plane, one not absent of euphoric existance

So grotesque it seems, yet feels so beautiful
To the weak and the naked eye
But her darkened caress, it sooths my soul
A soul soon serene in death