My Laughter…

Dreams red as blood
Reality’s tissue paralyzed, unresponsive
The nightmare doctors the scars; a blunt needle
No moan passes; Penance has a price

But in the shadows of a whispers cloister
Delicately carved names; Iscariot faces
Bones to pick eyes and smiles to take
Do not your loins stir; The bastard you made?

The child is dead. Left fed on empty prayers
Recourse was clear; Temptation needed no fruit
This memory is a haze that the ears did not distort
There were screams, there was begging and then there was my laughter…