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