Image for the poem The Dark Fires Of Miss. Saigon (Act III of Act III)

The Dark Fires Of Miss. Saigon (Act III of Act III)

My love my whispers are getting faint to speak   †  
The demonsí fog swirls and circles my feet † † † †
Obscuring my sight, my war for freedom is getting weak † † †  
Torrents of pain, silenced voices, weary faces without names † † †  
Sacrifices of blood on the pentagram of pain † † †  
† † † †
Blackness comforting the steps of my feet † † †  
The stench of humanityís disobedience, roasting in a lake of fire as consecrated meat † † †  
Death in my disgraced dishonor birthed in the name of love † † † †  
The passage of the abyss is narrow I tarry in dusk, a wicked synagogue where my soul needs the light of Heaven above † † †  
† † † †
Closing my eyes, needing the anointing afterbirth † † † †
To turn back the hands of times to allow fate desires to give me my spiritual worth † † †  
Pairs of soft hands bathing my body in sinful ecstasy no man can turn away of refuse † † †  
Harlots of the bottomless pit, nonetheless, draining my soul night after night to sustain Satanís his immortality tools † † †  
On earth they walk upright with appearances of tempting smooth alabaster skin to blind the innocence and trick the fools † † †  
† † † †
Miss. Saigon holdfast to your devotion it gives me hope for an unrequited romance † † †  
A man with shame of a glorious life at my back, given to the throne of darkness his soul without the consideration of a second life chance † † † †
My naked palms, I cup to see blown away seeds of life, the future generations from my loins I selfishly withheld † † †  
The pride to love, laughter, and to live, heart, and mind I allowed to follow where it led my faith to believe in false piety, felo de se it compelled † † †  
I hear the disunited haunting voices the gloom of my despair is coming for me † † †  
My love, the core of my body will be deboned and tossed to burn for eternity † † †  
† † † †
Ashes to ashes dust to dust † † †  
No afterlife for souls who do not believe in a Deity we must trust † † †  
In the arms of an Angel disallowed to give me rest from its reprieve † † †  
Closing my eyes to the commemoration of echoing words, the only lingering tales of me † † †  
Burning in the crackle of fire turned up to a Hellish degree † † †  
Hidden from earth my soul now forevermore burns † † †  
My love, my beautiful love, words carried on the wind whispered from infinity in the bed of my fiendish scorching Urn † † †  
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National Suicide Prevention Lifeline † † †  
Written by SweetKittyCat5
Author's Note
The obsession with suicide is characteristic of the man who can neither live nor die, and whose attention never swerves from this double impossibility.

Emil Cioran
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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