undead alchemy:

Stitched together.

Rough sutures, pale flesh.

The lord of the night.

Carried silently on owl’s wings.

Eyes a mirror to the abyss.

God himself guided the needle.

Fired the synapses.

Flesh and form, blended.

Abominable.

You were made in his image.

To slink in the mud eating rats.

Fingers working across your fangs.

Cursing that sin could be given shape.

Every shade that roamed the graveyard

knew your name.

I heard it myself on the devil’s tongue.

Traded in coin gleaming silver.

It wouldn’t buy much,

not outside these hallowed grounds.

If only something could ignite this corpse.

Consign it to the sacred ash.

But a dream could never spark kindling.

And a prayer can only carry so far

on a wind as stale as this.