Hour Of Penance

Swallowed down. Is this my last stairway?
Still I feel a needle through my flesh
that brings smoke, it bars the view,
cleaning remorse out of me.
Pure denying.
I became a survivor
at one with these spires that feed me on.
My own shelter for cold stung my face,
yet I can't, I won't move.
Snake of God, have mercy on me.
What's left behind for me?
Choose my path, gather my past,
wash it away with lenient venom.
Forever grateful
of keeping me warm.
Do what you will.