Lovers insinuating earnest sentiments
masking a keen expectation;
telling how exogenous
the reality underneath the hoax
is. Nothingness drives eternal-ephemeral despondency.
That day I wore the truth.
It was made of a fabric,
which was made of truth,
which was made of a fabric,
made within and without of truth.
Dared I think life could be better than the books I lived in.
Like dear Mr. Pangloss my world has come a falling down.
I bid adieu to the night, to the creeping desires of the moonlight.
I take recourse in the leaves again, of autumn, of summer, of winter.
Rained it heavily, dawned it sensibly: some men never live, never die.
Souls tethered, circling eternally; drawing, redrawing Soul’s territory.
The wanderer sucked into one: the wanderer, he never belonged.
I hope now the leaves have some dew, or I’ll be left dry forever.
I promise to breathe fire
I promise to burn it all down
I promise to make you cry
I will fucking make you twine.
You thought you’d get away
this cruelty will not be just for me.
I promise to break your juices
and slosh them all over the walls.
You will not just get away
this bile has left its taste
now my bitter teeth
they ask for your blood.
I am gonna hurt you,
you’ll do all I want
I’ll fuck you till you die
then drink your blood like wine.
Oh this fire won’t be wasted in words
it will rage on, it’ll get its claws
screech it will on the walls
in your face, and drown you in the noise.
By your corpse when I stand,
with the sweet music of the queen of the night,
I’ll remember the promises I kept
the last one of which was to make myself forget.