Written by Noah Rymer
Art by Marta Dzedyshko

Delirium tastes so sweet,
those hallucinations in my head!
Maggots burrow in my skull,
when my soul is dead.

Love simply a figment,
a color or a pigment.
Happiness reduced to pleasure.
Lazily at my leisure.

And when the sunlight grazes my face,
I start to burn up inside;
Exorcism of the emotions I hide,
To feel something less than apathy
a disgrace.

Death acts as a simple buffer,
sorting out those sordid souls.
The ones who weep in the afterlife,
from those who burn as coals.

So as the dirt envelopes my coffin,
my skull grinning fiercely,
buried within the sands of time,
I reach for your touch in the Earth, you see.

Will both our corpses
be entangled in a cold embrace?
Rigor mortis in your eyes,
as those grubs delight upon your face?

Or simply, hellfire we shall suffer,
cleansing, heavenly buffer?
Oh, my decomposing bride-that-was,
how shalt we live, in our coffin of love?

Let me count the ways
that the rot shall set in.
Mortal bodies enraptured in eternal love,
to live without love seems like sin.

For love is but a messy and joyous medium:
the art of the relationship oft is.
And yet in that muck of emotion,
lies the essence of what life is.

Love is like a healing acid,
stripping away,
the scabs and scars of yesterday.

Caustic and beautiful,
for the urge to destroy
is also a creative urge.

And it melts away worry,
with a most cautious aim:
to be steeped in the acid of love,
purifies and cleanses wholly.

And now my skeleton,
born naked by the
lick of that flame,
I embrace fully,
the erosion of hate.