every moment I sit
on the edge
twiddling my thumbs
right next to insanity
tender lies, spoken
in whisper,
root themselves within
and spread moments of weakness
all dolled up as
strength.
I know the thrill
of falling
deeply
into the heart of
abandon,
headfirst, the warm
and gentle darkness
keeping my eyes in place,
fixed upon it:
my broken and perverted
crucifix
many hands stretched out to wound him,
reaching for the God of Souls.
so mine reach out to claim her,
clamoring
for the sweet ungodly savor of my
goddess
and the beggarly delighting
of her tender gaze on me.
perverse pageantry,
the ritual of very God above
imitated in the wasting
of this ******'s
soul.
stretched out for all to see,
just like he.
pierced through and bleeding
from head, heart, hands, and feet -
so she is pierced
for me.
not to save, but to delight.
uplifting?
bringing low
+
blasphemy, you say?
indeed.
of the deepest and the darkest
dye,
conceived in hell, the devil's spawn of this idea
swam upward to life through
layers of molten lies.
they burn, unceasing.
If you could tear one part of you and cast it far away, what ***** would you...
...fool! think not
escape to find without a light
trust not
the fickle heart to leave any part of you to lie severed
in the cold for long.
you'd search for it, and find in reunion cause
for celebration of the
darkest kind.
lay flat instead
upon the sun-pocked surface of this lightless planet
that you call a soul.
lay bare your helplessness
to the falling stars
and take the fatal blow that falls down
from on high.
no life without death,
no freedom without a brand
new set of chains.
do you actually believe it possible to change,
without such bitter pangs?
undo your only hold on life
and in the process gain
a claim to thrones eternal
and the everlasting
flame.
+
shadows of the devil's crucifix are haunting me.
desire, love, and beauty lick their lips
and wait for me.
but shifting like the broken
veil within, the pageantry I see
unfolds,
mist falls away; reality breaks free.
the shattered, broken
body of a god,
hangs limply on a tree.
lightning flashes, and a flood of unrefracted clarity
destroys the feathered patchwork
of my soul.
held aloft before him,
I scream.
forced to watch the devil's prodding,
dancing in their glee
I can never, never be free.
compelled by love more fierce than fire,
inflamed with all the agony of
purifying blood,
I lay a hand upon him,
and I weep like God above.
all this for me;
all this,
for heaven's enemy.
April 9
