Deathspells from a Dead Womb

Nor night nor day was known to men.
All that lived was made, not born.
From animal dead they built my body.
And their foggy breath gave me life.

Not made a son–I am a walking corpse.
Their soldier. Warrior. A dog of war.
Who can love a beast of fog?
All shudder at my stench and form.

Brothers of fog and grey, gathered at one table—
feasting on mortals’ pain, between gamble and wine.
Fed me their bones, adorned me in steel–
Chain of needles forged from torment, a necklace of pain.

Drunk from wine, they dream of golden times
I took the keys from Needlebones' spine
The chains of a slave silently kiss the floor
I run free. My howl–an omen. The days will come.

The necklace burns deep.
Scars don't know time–
Like their brothers:
Stars, yet unborn.
No end to endless pain.

Yet freedom dies quickly.
They'll find me.
Return me.
Bind me.
Again.

May they sleep in dreamless nights,
wander through the woods
they have emptied of life,
and never return.
Haunt forever.
Ghosts.

The smell.
Blood on the wind.

I smell. I remember.
Forgotten is my ruin.

No swords split these veins.
Bloodshed! Women's spell–magic gift.
The only blood that brings life.

All thoughts burst like glass.
The beast is all I am.
No longer can I see.
My vision blurred.
My heart, a war drum.
I am possessed
by lust and agony.

Here I am, the stray,
lover to the grey gods' wives.
For decades, their slave;
When they sleep,
tonight, I rise as their god.

I beg you, wives:
May you bear the sun?
May you bear the moon?
I was born from a dead womb–
life denied–
beast–
Now I pray to the slain gods
the first who died
by the murderous hands... of the grey
to become the father
of the rulers' greatest fear.

A bell, a call, a distant thunder.
Their hunt begins, down Rebellion!
I cannot hide; they follow my scent.
No hole in this world deep enough
No family that stands before me
A few breaths, until my freedom died.
Click-clock! Needles on my throat.
The beast, their dog.

Now they beat me.
They break my legs with sticks.
My nails: pulled.
They grow back.
Pulled again.
Forever and ever.

*What have you done?*
*What have you done?*
Their words, my deathspell, a curse.

My remains—
a bloodstained mouth,
broken limbs…
they laugh.

Foggy breath, giver of life.
No more is the power yours alone.
Blood carries the same magic.
It flows in rivers–
through bodies soft as stone.

In their torture chamber
I sing my last song–
before the spirit dies,
and this body serves
until it breaks:

They will split the skies–
Screams will cut the fog.
Blood will wet the acres.
The army of one brings ruin–
and night and day are born.

†