Chains envelop a man, coated in a black drench of paint
He is placed firmly upon a crucifix, the meticulous engravings etched into him
Master craftsman, with an ingenious mind, he sports a sinister smile
Gazing upon a human-turned-creation, his dark brown eyes, admire each wavelength
Basement coated in velvet, human remains coveted its moonlight dark floors
Here resides, one of the many who choose this incomprehensible fate
Why? What's the point of this? Why choose to end a salvageable situation?
Sooner then later I learned, it was never their choice.
It's never their fucking choice. Because over time everything perishes.
It's.. all a Matter of time;