A purple rose abseils down an alleyway
Revolving through an all-mirrored music box,
Replicating the descent of sodomy;
Amnesia lapses on second-hand sunsets
Thrifting antediluvian horizons
Propagating rumours of an endless flood;
Before it\'s too late, we dip our lungs, prick blood
And beg voids for the redemption of the Sun.
Limbo alienates, shames our nakedness,
We predict ancient rhythms as if we think
Of ourselves separate from childhood, the sadness
Appreciated only upon this brink
Of imitated euphoria, jarring
Oblivion\'s self-love to a motionless spring;
Moss overflows from the centre of our forehead
And we return to hell, as if we weren\'t dead.