Fame

I scream your name from the unlit

depths of some squalid mosh pit,

along with countless faceless faces

with fire in their eyes

and water in their lungs.

Ever-evading mistress,

we screech your name in every octave,

hoping one note will melt your stone

and send your hand to pluck us

from this helpless Hell.

But you never descend into our darkness,

never wrestle us from the shadows.

And so we curse your name

with our quaking rage

while our flames are still aflicker.

We choke on our maggot dreams;

our hoarse voices crackle like

logs in an overnight campfire,

until the sound is extinguished

and our lips fall silent.