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

My love my whispers are getting faint to speak      
The demons’ 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 humanity’s 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 Satan’s 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        
       
       
       
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline        
1-800-273-8255