if the Judgment didn't lay the blame on me
the defeat
if the Assassin asked for mercy
under a priesthood of disgrace
the Whitish Light of the Icy God
is in love
with the beloved
first blood in the morning
in the pale carnage
short bodies fall
reddish
half a shadow
of the vermillion child
glides along the blade-beast
of a bluebottle-razor
in a rusty and purple garden
the amaranth sting whips the shot
and the Martyrdom with the rope flame
if Endless Father shed his own blood
if Heaven had no more blood
if
Enemy of God
I were a butterfly
if
Demon of Devils
I accepted
on a whim
the agony and invoked
sweetly
the madness
If upheld
I swear
the torment
if implored mercy
if
Beautiful Prince
I tore my teeth
and my eyes
if small arms
rich in blood
waved flags
painted
like butterfly wings
