The obscure process of metamorphous

Everyday... everywhere, I see lifeless,
soulless corpses walking down cold lonely streets,
the methamphetamine dreams distort focus, their tongues
the serpent speaks, obsidian.
A grey funeral hearse passes by, with the scent of lotus flowers burning,
a still mourners winters sky.
Dark nebula creeping up upon my spine,
it is like breathing liquid... with deaths passion, tasting like crimson wine.
Bruised lips. A heartless kiss. And a wave goodbye.