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it seems that no matter what i do i can't stray from the inky taint of night. the full moon my only manic salvation he. his peak, and his eyes full of lunacy
i stay beneath the sun and my carcass wails. i am made of sun my skin painted in the tincture of her everlasting proclamations, but inside me is the compost of fruit and rinds, a swarm of insects made of fangs and darkness amidst their wings
in me, I am in debt to the sun one she holds within her cancerous rays _forbidding, foretelling, unsure, unsightly...deadly_ and i fear i can never repay her as long as my marred marrow and melted carcass still remembers _longs_ the taste of the moon and the lunacy he held
