The Art of Speaking - Bedlam.

The art of speaking
deters your torment
yet tortures remove
the impassive tongue entwined.

The moths have darkened
the ash grounds, the fertile soil
beneath the graves in moonlight
frozen dead overnight.

In your dreams and nightmares
a ghastly visage waits
its eyes steal your words
you're searching for time again.

No gates atop the spire
no escape at the precipice
the world will split in two
and more, when I am through.

I speak to you
in twisted tongues
through punctured lungs
with venomous reprieve.

As they shift and sway
the ravenous bunt the dead
vexing my anger
in this crippled heart of lead.

The art of bleeding
craves bloody words for healing
I've died a hundred times
possessing these words.