
~Midnight Confessions~
prophets feed empty stomachs with fragmented hope,
vacant eyes with an uncertain passage of gathering time,
intoxicated minds with the elixir of eternal life.
leaving no elements to drown in a brittle lagoon of porcelain angels bleeding sacrifice to a broken god.
sacred voices linger like blind perfumed child wearing glassy,
haunted trust in a cold fever dark cloud fever of steel belly desire.
and the prophets breathe a tender seduction to a newborn,
empty stomach alchemist intent on sustaining the motion of Truth's brittle reserection