Hour Of Penance

It's the blistering colour of truth.
Still I'm deeply ulcerated.
Its the disease in alien shape.
Disease, uncontrolled paranoia.
Admirable understanding of endurance.
They will never tear me from this hate.
Pure desire of death, I will submit.
Climbing my chest, inside my bone,
the cage is hollow, the soul is gone.
It's Sappho's juice that no one even knows.