forever in pain

upon the throne of thorns ,
descend the gloomy eyes ,
sorrow dipped blood ,
under the cloaked hood.

in the doom of whom ,
tears bathe in blood ,
pain sensed in naught ,
crucified is the heart ,
the soul , ripped apart.

gulped is the guilt with greed ,
dealt is the pride with breed ,
avarice is the acedia in the empty pores ,
sewn is the lechery in the black heart ,
sown is the wrath in the envy of ,
the red and white stitched eye ,
the cracking skin beneath the cloak ,
trembling like a lion ,
for all by curse ,
dwell in one.

the soft screams in vain ,
rendezvous with pain ,
with each taking turns ,
playing their part ,
moulding the fragile heart ,
for the most part.

with the chest heavy ,
the mortal brewing inside ,
the fervid fractious urges ,
nerves shivering like aspen ,
the curse flaring vicious fear ,
with the slit smile on the distort face ,
procreates sin after sin ,
the fiend jinni.

not a reason ,
not a soul ,
not a heart ,
not the intentions ,
not a choice ,
chosen amidst the unsullied ,
to walk the , baneful berm.

but for the little part ,
of the cursed black art ,
the glimpse of hope ,
the spark of smile ,
the will of fire ,
burn within incessantly ,
and wait for the sun to rise by ,
in the utopia of the cursed.