The Road That Eats Its Own Tail

Now twisted in shadow’s grip…

Stanza I

Past rocks that hold their breath as we drift by—the sun warps its shape in scorn;

its rays, cold as crypt-steel, timeless and worn,

caress waters where life is drowned to the bone…

yet cling to the moon—

and its pallid, hungry light.

Stanza II

The moon hangs like a specter with glow drained thin,

shivers and gasps in the dark.

The sun gurgles its death on the brink…

till the sky—thin as a shroud—hisses its mark:

how the moon, though broken, still cackles stark.

Stanza III

Sands bleached to bone-white never fade;

waves choke on their azure rot,

clawing the shore’s raw flesh where dark things are wrought.

Stanza IV

Clouds clot like black bile in the heights above,

then rip apart in screams—

when wind howls through graves with rain like blood streams—

where young and old trees writhe and claw in their dreams.

Stanza V

This journey is a loop of damnation spun—

longing and madness cling or tear free as they run.

Cities scorned by sun’s scourge and rain’s curse;

skies stained with chrysanthemums of hearse;

lyrics woven with rage and the silence of hearse.

Stanza VI

Gatekeepers—blind to the living—sink deep in their rest;

snow wraps like a shroud on the cold earth’s breast.

Tingling flesh numbs to stone—

can’t bear the frost that gnaws to the bone—

on ground blanketed thick with the dead’s own test.

Stanza VII

Weary hearts rend the gravesoil with nails and with grief,

tearing through rot where no comfort takes leaf.

No hope left to sew—

their eyes veil hues of decay in their glow—

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