Stigmata

I fell into your arms because you were a warm creature, and I desperately needed warmth. I did not want to write—it was not a choice.

Stigmata on your hands
Was it disaster if it was planned? 
I walked through the alleyways 
Vanishing as the winter winds 
So many decadent dreams I abandoned to oblivion 
Who am I in the ravaging dark
Who am I, who am I—I forgot 
Desire burned like devastation in me 
Desire burned like a grace from the deities 
Souls moving through the acropolis of moonlight
Desire burned a wasteland in me 
Desire burned, and what a grace it was again to need 
I thought I was alive but I died many times 
To perish and perish again in Paradise
Desire said, I am Genesis 
and this is the end (again)