8 September 2012
Dressed in white with scarlet stains, From all preluding bloodied games, A cup of wine upon my chest, An occult cult, in death I rest.
A pentacle, inked on my skin, A jagged needle, deep within, An athame, above my head, As I lie still, upon this bed.
My fingers clasp the rose thorn tight, My eyes drink in the final night, A zealot, clad in onyx black, Prepares, in depth, the ancient trap.
A flash of white, a ring of light, Surrounds the bed where I take flight, A hand of darkness blurs my gaze, And steals away my final days.
Sacrifice • Opuss № I