(we) are prisoners

i'm all torn at the seams;
straying, peppermint strings breaking
with every shaky tug-

this here is a reckoning; a
proclamation to our claim of doors
beyond these sanctioned walls,
beyond these drooping carcasses of shining, gilded "faith."

the Moon cries for redemption past the
wicked nails of guilt;
she screams full gusts of wind
through an echoed, human conscience.

there is no unification-
there is only death in threes:
a curs`ed fate upon our minds
with bodies succumbed to follow.

Ragnarok lives:

salvation escaped through
multi-universe portals containing
mortal matter;
quarantine personified,
we are the damned
through which death commands,
the fallen foe destined to be eternally destroyed.