I wake in terror, blackbirds screaming
dark cathedrals spilling midnight on the altars
I’m your servant, my immortal
pale and perfect, such unholy heaving -
the statues close their eyes, the room is changing
break my skin and drain me.
Ancient language, speak through fingers
the awful edges where you end and I begin
inside your mouth I cannot see -
there’s catastrophe in everything I’m touching
as I sweat I crush you.
And I hold your beating chambers until they beat no more
you die like angels sing…
I finally had the time to finish the final illustration for this set.