An L.H. Grey/Richard Charles Stevens Dark Fusion
Trent Reznor and Atticus Ross A Familiar Taste
Is it just me
who can see
the cold steel
And very soon to be encroaching
Have I invited its ice into my spire
Doth my protest herein request
Am I glass to see right through
Falsified by eyes of truth
Must this knife party commence
Where’s the sense
Is it too late to repent
Can’t I play the moot observer
A mere tumble of weed to concede
Must I bleed
Not once or twice but thrice in.
Enticing the scarlet sap to reveal
Persuasive is this steel
One clean motion
Slides in deeper
hath this Reaper
Beat the last my windswept heart
Now – Beseiged.
Thumb to rule.
Glass half full.
A deluge of ripest rouge
Chugging train of steaming pain
Bereft of gain
Sword now sheathed
Comes the gusher
Everything must go
Raise a toast
True. Real. Sincere. Crystalline.
Imagery and audio arrangement by L.H. Grey
Prose by Richard Charles Stevens