The Saviour's Narcissism Poem by Leon Moon

Crucifying freedom to a stain none but one can see, any possibility of being understood is the hilarious suicide crafting an appetite starving silence. The dream ensnaring life. A royal parade implodes into a changeless room, capsizing time into an untied noose, crowning you her lover, you're neglected to adore echoes permeating through Venus' emerald sequinned mirror - of which only the dead and bona fide poets have the luxury to engulf. All luxury must grow rotten, there is no escape from the artisan's sacrifice. The abyss pulsates. Bliss aches. Every form of action is at your dispense. Cremating comfort into breathless desire. A green puddle on the floor. Whispering in your blood, the forever unknown lover…