desperate for representation, but not a sliver of familiarity
her and her exhibitionist tendencies
wanted to be seen, raw & unclean - than to die a mystery
a depiction, an image of her bare soul, bare skin & bare body
sweat dripping down her chest & blood down her wrist
got hexed, with a curse, an appetite for more
the next one will be my salvation
hedonistic, chased after euphoric encounters & delightful lows
euphoria for glares of wit, & seething lows
because she was broken & thought to herself
I am worthy
redemptive, consumed by a lust for a life that wanted nothing but to fuck her up
intrusive thoughts, sharp edges & exasperating moans
cavorting to the metallic squeals of the flaming lips
discorded harmonies, hatred & hostility
rebellion, exaspe-fucking-ration
this is my fervency
uncensored desires & an appetite for destruction
a 23 year old having a tantrum
abducted by the mania that lured her in
with promises of fairytale tongues & arcane colors
but lustrous, it used her up, & passed her on to rage
& a circle of unexplored emotions, madness, lust, fear & grandiosity
& in between, we were touched by phantoms
my hatred sparked an animus
& rendered a bitter taste that rotted in my mouth
snuck its way into my gut & started molding
highs, lows, euphoria, rage & joy
hate, lust, hate again & an explosion
of hormonal emotion, rasping sobs & a ringing migraine
that kept clawing out my brain
& scraping the insides of my skull
an exodus calling out the reaper’s name
yearning, Dagon, Dagon, Dagon
Dagon
but these karmic bonds were fated
so, bleed me dry, I begged Dagon
bleed me dry
bleed me dry
my 12 slit veins are bursting
Dagon; To be cut open
gashing body, my fresh scars, & his eyes tracing my figure
I didn’t like it, but then again, I loved the things I didn’t like
Ludovico’s experience
& seasons by Vivaldi
swayed & swung me till I fell for surf rock
those fiery chains bonded me, I couldn't stand still
& I begged again.. cease me
but I kept throbbing, into internal eternal chaos, the never-ending
life after life of pulsating glory, so disturbing
convulsing with blood, ink & bodily fluids called poetry
& an arena of growling, flaming mouths, these ghouls devouring each-other
at a heaving war to drink what left of grace they have in the back of each-other’s throats
just to fill the void.. with something
but pain isn’t so bad, it’s freeing
it glaringly marked
the unbecoming of who I am not
my vessel was burning, heaving for centuries
seraph ignis, she thought
the frostbites were a vagarious healing through art
flawed with thirst, covered in sweat.. we were hugged
by arctic winds, greeting us at Phlegethon, Lethe & Styx
Acheron, the bitter regret of what has been missed
Cocytus, all the light forgotten; all the light lost
death, repeating our spells again
Oscar Wilde, to this sacramental thing
make me holy
a freckled kiss scattered on my fading scars
& my stolen love trying to steal back
a portrait of a woman that alleviated my song
she silenced my pain.. & silently, I was left in pain
my sapphic poetry & her vacant eyes
an enticing dissonance inviting resonance
burdened & guilted me into undressing my darkest self
& oh, how it singed me, brutally scathed & burned my heart
as harshly as midsummer nights in hell
but it was liberating.. the pain always is
& Alas, I craved to be set free
enticed by the redolence of when Atlantis fell
the story never swayed
the living kept falling one by one
speaking in alien tongues
& choking on carbon dioxide
we never knew the weight of what we held within
magic was lost, paradise & innocence
trails of blood, perspicuous
lost herself to sin
lost herself to sin
& the contortions of my chest hurt
whenever I stretched my arms out grasping for strands of light
but my darling, you can’t capture the light
it’s just infinite
& I miss being infinite
so, I kept dreaming, of infinity
but the pain is so concrete, it’s so physically stabbing
it shocks me back into hell every time I reach for heaven
Dagon Dagon Dagon, convulsing, to be cut open
joy, lust, rage, ardor, joy again
An Explosion
- Shrine
“their bodies not only craving, but needing the very poison that grounds them into this pitiable state of being.” —Requiem for a Dream (2000, Hubert Selby Jr.)
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