Inshyne 

Again it feels like systems awry
Curled around this piece of tongue
Throughout a wreath of holy thorns
Spitting blood into eyes of young

Hammer down, the blankest stare
A defaulted complication
Glassy minds exploding black
Into ink and oil foundation

Involuntary manslaughter
Sleep in the graveyard tonight
Visit a self once had, and wish
For a leader not blinded by light