The Mouth That Devours

Your breath, a wet knife in the dark, Carves hymns into my brittle bark. I am the soil, you are the root, Twisting through me, a silent brute. You are the needle, I am the thread, Sewing my lips to the words you've said. A sacrament of ash and wine, I drink your shadow, you drink mine. Oh, mouth that devours, teeth like shards of glass, You split my ribs to let the night amass. I am the echo, you are the cry, A hymn that lives where angels die. Your voice, a rusted chime, decays, Peeling the walls where echoes fray. I am the wound, you are the thorn, A bloom of pain where dusk is born. You are the hook, I am the line, Dragged through waters black as time. In your embrace, white moths still fly, Brief luminescence before they die. Oh, mouth that devours, teeth like shards of glass, You split my ribs to let the night amass. I am the echo, you are the cry, A hymn that lives where angels die. Beneath the skin, cathedral bells Ring out in bones where darkness dwells. You are the hive, I am the sting, In cobwebbed chapels where spiders sing. Your hands collect my fallen teeth, Braided in marrow, a rosary of grief. A mouth with no hunger, a throat with no end, Swallowing starlight that will never bend. I am the wound, I am the seed, Blooming for you while you watch me bleed. One moment of grace in your hollow gaze— A flash of mercy before it decays. Oh, mouth that devours, I am your feast, A carcass crowned, a ghost released. We are the echoes where angels die, Swaying like hanged men as hymns run dry. Lyrics: Cheshirah