Tristan Robert Lange

A Feast That Festers

Sleepless nights in the valley,
Deep in the chasm of life,
Walks a shadow, a ghost,
A being lost in the strife.

No hope and deeply wounded,
Not a prayer, not a chance.
The wraith grows bitter
As he continues on the dance.

Who will save the darkness?
A black hole, he absorbs the light.
He has become another monster
So feast your eyes in your fright.

Anxious knots of desperation;
Bleeding, ulcerous, cancerous pain.
The phantom stays a shadow;
He feasts on your fiery disdain.