Bones, darkness and other heart contempts

More years than will we can carve on the bones, we draw these lines
Blessed on ashes, firey scapes of desire.
To simply move on.

We must fear the horde of time and logic,
For the feelings of trust they arise.
Upon false statements of shallow contempt
We relinquish, our shadows, our mind
As one.

May the scars in fever be withdraw, just so it bleeds
for passion.
Reason is the nectar of killer self, the vision of it
Sunburst, of mirrored intentions
Boast in little ever more, the pain
The pain that carves your bones, in a whisp of hate.
For that we desire what is forbitten, misterious
In peril we insist to lie.
I'd rather die.