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My pallid hand in the hand of darkness we drift the dimmed passsages the sunless hallways without respite the framed dead unameable resigned to dust, stilled forever beyond life no longer glorified in their earthly magnificences look down from shrouded walls. from the grave I have come, ghosting. an unwillling participant,imprisoned in the invisible reality of this ...

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Morbid disturbance

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What right have you? poor little wretched spirit to stain with your white transparency this blackened room leave me to the safe darkness of this corner where I huddle guarding my fear let me be deaf to your pitiful wailings stripping me of my sanity. sicken no longer the dank air you have chilled with the scents of fleshless odours,perfumes of the dead I cannot understand...

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