When Lust Disembowels the World

Peace becomes septic,

with putrid puss,

solace and fury battle,

sparks die out and churn to ash,

a holding cell for dreams,

before passing

into a lifeless pool—

flatline on a monitor,

an unchanging high pitched tone,

the sound of nothing,

an unmodulated steady drone

beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep

of life ceasing,

sealed in catacombs

dark and dank,

where angels come to weep.