Tendril from hell

If you are not true,
don't you come back
keep your sweet vagueness  
clear it yourself.
I 'll burn down mine
and scatter the ashes
Time is a healer
and so is this death.
 
 
Tied in a tendril
rooted in hell
I have nor wish
or last request.
My lucid shadows,
fucking persistent,
drag down my anchors,
keeping me west.
 
What an epiphany
of self-destruction
occurring briefly,
eternally granted
Hideous demons,
prophets of clarity
add fuel to my fire
my spirit to gladden