I writhe in its black tar,
gasping for air, as my own breath slips from my fingertips.
It seeps beneath my skin
and sinks its daggered claws within.

Darkness surrounds me, as I look one last time to the moon lighting the sky.
Only when I taste the kiss of death
do I seek the comfort of life.
Yet everyday agony takes ahold of me,
so in my last breath I inhale the void.

Peace was always a stranger to me;
my company was of suffering and solitude,
but now I shall lay my weary eyes to rest.
Maybe in another life agony will be a stranger to me,
but I can take her no more.

And when our corpses are six feet under,
I know our bones will find one another.
Rotting away through human decay,
our love is more than a mortal display.
I will take my bouquet from the flowers placed upon the graves.
With this cup, maggots in hand,
may the moon bless our matrimony far below the fleeting world of man.
The souls of the tombstones awaken from their slumber, as we profess our undying love for one another.  
Our spirits will dance among the deceased,
as we are wed,
rotting six feet beneath.

There is a
screaming
screeching pain
that is so raw.
It's like a
mouse caught in
a glue trap.
It must be locked
away for no one
to see or handle.

And sometimes
on moonless nights
when no one is
around, and the
owls have killed
their prey, and the
teardrops have been
bottled and sold on
the black market,
you may be tempted
to take that pain out,
like a slice of pie,
and taste it.
Be careful.
It may have
fermented and
developed a mind of
its own.

He kisses upon my lips,  
expecting an apocalypse.

Yet my heart beats dry when he looks into my eyes.
The closer he pulls me, the farther I push his touch away.
I try to speak his name,
but I moan yours in hopes of ecstasy.

The memory of you has branded itself upon my mind.
I long for the sweet nectars of your flower,
but instead I am stabbed by his sword.

There is a wolf that stalks me in the night.
I hear her howls as I am confined to the gnawings of my mind.

She bore her claws in me once,
and I am now marked by the scent of a blood so bittersweet.
When I am weak, she lunges for me with daggers for teeth.
I am her eternal prey,
caught in a slow-burning wildfire.

The only path in sight, leads me to her lair.
It is the only place of refuge for the inferno that surrounds me.
My path is one from which I cannot hide,
for my blood makes a trail for this she-wolf of the night.

I await her presence. I have been here before.
But this time I do not know if I will make it out alive.