My jawbone rattles in a hollow cage of wind, A grey-skulled ghost in a tailored shroud. My silk tie whips like a violet lash, While my purple eyes burn through the shifting cloud. The abyss has no floor, no ceiling, no end, Just the centrifugal force of my own sins thinning. I am spiraling. I see him in the static, that crimson-boned devil, Dressed in the silk of a nightmare’s parade. A skeletal clown in blood-spotted ruffles, Laughing through teeth that the devil has made. I loathe the way his red jaw moved with sick laughter, The architect of the hatred I feel. I am spiraling. I pray to a God I mocked in the light, Grant me the grip to throttle that grin. He is the puncture in my hatred's hull, The jester who beckons the rot to begin. I fear his shadow but I crave his demise, As the grey of my skull starts its frantic peeling. I am spiraling. Then the vortex fractures, a seam rips wide, A blinding gold pierces the violet gloom. A doorway of light stands tall in the void, Promising vengeance and an end to this room. A glowing hand reaches to steady my soul, A celestial pact for the hate I am dealing. I am spiraling. I take the fingers of fire and grace, The weight of the abyss falls away at last. The red-boned clown will soon learn to scream, For my mercy died in the recursive past. I step through the threshold, the light turning white, No longer falling, no longer spiraling. I am judgment.
Press that cursed flag
