Crescent Moons Don't Die

 Melanoid nightmares strangle my midnight reveries,
And leave behind their trail of haunted memories,
A rancid stream of ebony psychosis floats by,
Tearing a hole of dread and misery in the grim sky.

As crimson strokes stain my inky walls in doom,
The crystals in my eyes pierce my thoughts with  gloom,
A crown of wailing devils encroaches on my soul's breath,
Twisting and tightening to my spirit's ultimate death.

A mystical feather drifts through the folds of mist,
And reposes itself daintily upon my tainted wrist,
As it injects a dark depression into my putrid blood,
I am left standing,stupefied, in hell's vengeful flood.