/ kiss of death /

[an(an)them(a) of the grey]

a kiss from death never smelled so sweet
pouring from the bowels of hell is thought, 
self thought; ironic?
we are individuals, individually the same
needn't we know our own limits?
it's easier to press a shirt covered with starch
made to conform and stay
i don't iron shirts

i licked the cheek of death once
covered with disdain and repugnance
and i stared at death, 
mental death, and i laughed, heavily
alone i stood in a crowded room
only to amuse the puppeteer,
for whom i have no strings
the amusement was blinding enough 
to ignore my freedom 
within chaos

i danced with death once
so vile and so crass
i stared in death's eye
mental death, and i laughed, heavily
leading a dance of destruction 
with a passion for life
death cried

i made love to death once
death took my breath
and gave me orgasmic revelations 
of truth beyond falsity, i cried
never to be closed again, i am open

i hear music that grew from a simple drone
to an unmasked clamor of brightly 
depictable decibels of righteousness
i see the color of sound vibrantly at times,
like an epiphany spawned from tedious thought
and i hear the sound of color, 
both pitches high and low

kiss me now, oh mental death of the ages
dance with me to life's chaotic symphony
and lie with me, oh mental death
in fields of malignance
what i abhor most is what equally propels
my imprudence toward eternal paradox in my mind