My wrist uplifted, sliced in light with a blade of dawn, my conscience tender, human filled with defilement from my slumber. The night, the dragons, the fears where daemons cry. My weakness before sunrise, in thoughts, a failure in darkness, the thorns that made love cry. No psalm right now, my creator before me, indigenous shame beneath dry sky. Pull me under, lest I kill me, your judgment before me, these sprites inside me, lost from grace inwardly misplaced. My mind a warrior, my soul a prophet, now ruined in shadows, unreasonable in its passion, my spear inside me. I am pulled under, spinning before your face.
Pull me under, with skin that falters within the moment, in moonlight, Azazel in passion with lips before me, a fire of wonder that marks me blind. In sighs, in minutes my spirit insipid, a man her other, my destiny, forgotten, this light of a new day, another I called out, and by a summoned, a clay filled pact, by that familiar did Uriah stumble and die. Opened now by my eastern window, noise, and divisions in diver’s places, this sorcery unending, ethereal and wicked. By my eye, I have traded compassion to another, in this coldness, I am pulled under, spinning before your face.
Bane of a tempter, that lightning that thrills me, her body in water that judgment controls. Pull me under, that morning might not find me, these covers in kisses of rapture, these whispers of soul. This light how it burns me, and makes my heart quiver, this place by my window, where your flesh has called me wait. A deception, a strange essence I have captured, an infamy now held forever, these acts now behind me, I am pulled under while I awake.
awoke on the first day after the darkness was gone, alone a murderer and an adulterer, separated from the light, all predestined and a part of a strange and balanced plan. – דָּנִיֵּאל 04/10/2014