Thin cry

an angels death begets a lingering shallow
begone I say, begone or else
live beyond, live within, just not amidst
as you leach your presence I pale
blood faltering in my tired flesh
reaching, seeking, finding not
the chancre mechanic leaks insipidness
i state, i retract, i collate my brain
the devils soul is my latest toy
from whence I sprung to do this deed
friendless, fiendish, delightful
sickness permeates the darkened shroud
leave me, burning, diseased, broken
begone I say, begone or else