Pellet In the Head - Slugdge

The beauty of the flames' enthralling glare

A perfect sphere suspended in the air

A blinding light ignites to wash away

When all is dust, a shadow remains

In strokes of red, murder becomes art

It’s influence still felt from afar

These blinking stars, in their evanescence

Burn their brightest just before the end

Mesmerized by the burning skies

Ensorcelled by destruction

Pacified by the noose around our neck

The perfect death

Asleep or dead?

Inside or outside of my head?

Soothing sounds of torture so I might convalesce

Captivating strangulation, erotic suffocation

A contradiction designed for failure

That executes it’s saviour