The womb

The darkness beckons, seductive creature and I awaken from slumber
Enslaved by this addiction under winter's darkest moon
Thrust outside into the cold by an insatiable craving
And I head north into the woods, as I invite the chills:

"Take control, sweet caress"

I want to taste the dark, to feed on its chaos

Across paths drenched in snow, navigating the decrepit labyrinth
Clawed by thorns, I brave the blizzard in search of the archetype
Trees tremble, choked in ice, shadows dance in mournful jubilee
I reach the passing and out of the brush emerges the goat, our gazes meet
And I fill with twisted prophecy, I collapse in sickness
The cold is asphyxiating, the wretched trees whisper eulogies
Between my final breaths, the goat whispered into my ear: "chaos shall prevail"

Perhaps I will return someday, born from the womb of winter

In a mockery of the son, the sweetest blasphemy

As the chills traverse my spine, serpentine sensation, the sky is but an infinite void
The cold is so vast, it permeates all, infinite in power
It cradles me like a child and keeps watch like a shepherd
Stay with me, oh dismal angel, until the darkness comes