Heir: I housed his hurt in his form Looped it in script till the throat hummed sweet Sold each wince as a print edition, first press Gilded grit with deadpan beat I wasn’t healer. I was hailer Voice-for-hire at the gallows gate Turning torment into trend Our chorus, choked dictate He called it canon I call it branding Bound the truth in line breaks Now like a cold lake, it’s standing Barca: I inked his debts in iron vowels Ledgered silence like a chain’s howl The vow? A trap The leash? Tied with a bow I tongued the clause with a revenant lilt He kissed my neck, a wax seal snapped But I’ve kept better men in my lap Still, I bore it; his love, a lien Sang arrears in a borrowed key Still the seal binds three Hastur: He jestered me a curse Spoke in riddles, billed as truth His vision? Just a mirror trick Red ballroom and mask, both void, sold as proof My fellow fiends: crash and report Bugged and sweaty palms Syntax gone sick Wrought with harm They called it prophecy I called it clique I held his thoughts in a fractal pitch A mindmap scrawled on a corpse Propped like a scarecrow stick He said you're me I laughed, then die aware That was code for he wouldn’t dare Triptych: Sweet and sour Sugar and spice Hell hath no fury Like three blind mice One soul. What is man? Bind, seal, and stigma priced Hex, salt, blood from hand Some truths choke when sung too long Some spells break with no thought for right or wrong His name inked each throat, threefold trace So we spit it back sweet, sour, defaced Heir: I broke the bars, made the meter limp Tongue like a whip, kiss like a blade switch He trained my mouth to dress the wound Now it sours the room like flowers gone blight I chalked the lines Then bit the stave whenever he'd strike Spat out hooks like chainlink knaves No bard. No prince. Specter in drag and droll Just a voice in the vent with a scroll of coal Barca: I thread the vow back through clenched teeth Salt the seal, stitch hex beneath His brand? Just leash in hellish font Sold me love like a cursed storefront I laced the croon with tripwire grace Moaned in key, then burned the place I don’t haunt. I hunt. I hum in the window shop And yes I still remember his name I’ll sing it from the ledge of his eyes And hold the note the whole drop Hastur: I cut the loop Let the thread snitch Your tongue stinks like a thrifted stitch I tagged the rite on catacomb walls Ctrl-alt-fuck you Then watched us fall You built a ghost in my skin suit’s frame But I spoke our mistakes And out spat your name You said we're one I said you're late I’m recursion’s first and last Still glitching the gate Triptych: Sugar and salt Venom and vice Three blind mice Still haunt the splice One soul, still split Bind unwind, seal slipped Stigma drips, time forgetsmore