With Reference to Reverence.

Another devil dies a sainted death,

Mothers, lovers, renamed regret,

Worship the words that undermined.

Undercover sins, repentance reminds.

There is no good, no bad, just ugly.

And you're getting uglier weekly.

The earthly memories remain, fainting

And your corpse will be your oil painting.

And all you were will be replaced

by a benevolent close-up of your face.

Revered relief in innocent exits

Then pillaged away 'til life forgets it.

Epitaph.

This could be my tombstone,
Digital ash in a digital urn.
Just charred scraps of a life force burnt,
In the flames of all lifes hurt.

A brittle brand at the top,
cheap counterfeit content in the middle,
And at the bottom:
Only me.

It's only me.

Cheap fertiliser,
ground in Yorkshire,
from shit and broken battlefield bones.
My skull shall be my legacy.
As my soul takes flight to be free.

This could be my tombstone.
This could be my legacy.
And if one day I cease to be,
All that will be left of me,
Will be my skull.