This body is a vacant space
All former hosts have been erased
No eyes to hear no ears to see
No mouth to f*ck no holes to feed
Thoughts account for nothing in the sempiternal spring
Our catatonic Christ grew bored of his device
And the desperate pleading of our failed design
Transparency
In the waking hours of the drip-fed dream
Tracing charred remains along the borderline
Too practical to die; too precious for this life
Blood runs cold
No exit wound
I bite the nail down to the quick
Painless
All virgin eyes I writhe away
Perfect
Forced hate