Neophyte

Phantasmagoria is calling   (expectations are failing).
The creature of hindsight looks back and departs headlong into collapse.

Oh mother, spurn me.
Let your shadow eat me 'til I am no more your foundling,
But dead matter.

Oh father, beat me.
Punish me 'til I bleed.
Show your disdain for
Your progeny.

Build out of dust,
Skulduggery
On the waste ground
Of the spurned, spoiled, charred and tattered child;
The burning ground of non-consciousness,
Of barren non-actuality,
Nonentity,
Dead matter.