Eclipse

I've been hunting juicy rats in the dungeon.
Teeth rotting on assumptions.
Villain role, half-human, not whole.
Chip off the creator's soul, sometimes I catch a glimmer of the mold.
Pondering all these memories sold for flakes of gold.
I'm a cold coal-miner, frame stiffened by the grand designer.
I trust the tools of my trade, unabiding truth craft no masquerade.
Conflicted pulling pins on the hand grenade, sacrificed myself to the handmaiden of grim fate.
Oh lord how much more must you take.
Was already willing to give and all those other selfless objectives.
Not relative if both parties don't get in on the risk.
It hurts to be the one open at the closed doorway, fists clenched at the one way that is your way.
I may have faced a few blatent stop-signs and not taken to lessons seeping through.
Black tar on a summer concrete.
Sticky and unpleasant, only recollection running from my section.
Titled and dated, grim reaper makeshift emotional rifts.
Sift the vortex on a search for the raw flesh of this lost quest.
Call me cartographer, insomnia ridden candlelight vigil smitten.
Tracking 77 lost souls of ailing comrades once known.
Throw an XLR lifeline with the microphone to reap old yeller home.
Sick sailor with a glass shell floating on a para-sail.
Taken far to the outer realms of bizarre.
Candid camera floating to Mars transmuting the easy and hard minerals of my carbon scored omnivores.
Comrades with a self-conflicted concave.
Rolling barren in these dark desserted days.
Turned night by this eclipse of the light in my mind.