Another Melancholy Scribble

The haunting pulsations of a dirge
Begin this solemn procession
To clay packed steps in a grave.
Who was I before my most vexatious obsession?

Hell nips at my heels like a piddling mutt,
My pace growing ever weary.
Sunshine stubbornly glares through the cracks,
Mocking my countenance ever angry and dreary.

A growing tension in my chest stirs,
And I remember the whirlwinds I hold inside.
Desperate to defecate every omen, sight, and longing,
I inwardly riot until the machine feels right.