In the aftermath of a writer's death I was born
From beyond his grave I rose up in words
The dreadful motions of his words bore me to life
Just like a deity is born.
From the waters I rose
Before the morning shoved
In blank pages you deceived me
But from whence I came, I returned.
As a first-born of the tenth Muse I bore
I fed myself in my womb
I was invoked in your tomb
Of the sweetness of evil I became an encore.
From the heights of your breast
I stole your parent's tongue
Before they were laid to rest
I made with their flesh a song.