Necrophile

Oh Necrophile, you who seek such poisonous outcomes, how can you persist?

You, who would cast Socrates’ crime onto the living, only to commit it yourself?

Oh Necrophile, how can you cling to such a hollow existence?

Your speech, a maelstrom of ire and anguish.

Oh Necrophile, how can you?

You, scared of the cacophony of the chaos of the cosmos.

Oh Necrophile, why are you so afraid?

You, who drapes shadows into a majestic life giving light, only for it to truly be the flames of hatred.

Oh Necrophile, why must you deceive that reality that you so nervously deny?

You, who venerates that which you fear the most.

Oh Necrophile, why must you?

You, who in beauty, only see sinful demons.

Oh Necrophile, how dare you?

You, who would seize the origin of the world, only to spawn your macabre legion?

Oh Necrophile, how can you be?

You, who lust after our darkest hours, wishing only to repeat them.

Oh Necrophile, why are you, still?