hidden
Within this heaving chest there lies a beast
vicious, desperate
She craves the savage, the primal approximations of life
Her will is cruel, strong, iron
Hear those feral ripping snarls
growls behind this once human heart
There is no death which mortals might bring to bear in which
she fears
No gods in which I believe save this beast who lies beneath
Animalistic instincts force her forward
Divine intellect plays lethal games
Risky, reckless
Hungry for the hunt more so than the prey
She will ring from me
all the weakness of the withering world
all the strength beyond
With each passing moment
I feel her tearing through my chest
The softest hint of fragrance
Blood I once possessed
lingers about her lips, my thighs, her fingertips
In fiery tendrils there still clings the scent
of the freshest southern rain
Come to wash her veil away...
Oh no there are no gods in which I believe save this beast, this beast which lies beneath
4-11-09
She is playing Russian roulette with herself- teasing the trigger, listening to the hollowness of an empty chamber, each chamber clicking into place... She is playing Russian roulette with herself just waiting to catch the bullet.
Her leg is lighter than alabaster, covered in bruises at different stages of existence: newborn damn near black, indigo trails, iridescent violet adolescence and beryl aged marks clinging, but creeping towards diffusion, inevitably fading into the milky pool of eternity that surrounds them.
Tracks. An amateur hunter could prey upon them, follow them right back to her.
She skillfully, tenderly encircles her thigh- now pulsing with old heat. Residue. The leather leaves not the slightest mar as she jerks it tighter. Tighter still she grips it, enjoying the feel of her veins constricting, jumping to attention. Then bulging- forced dilation, filled to bursting.
Each sweet little pathway has been worn out a thousand times or more. Recalling, with reverance, each one she blew when only an initiate into what is now her world as she draws up this elixir: whatever the day has brought her.
Gingerly she presses her fingers against the fiery skin of her inner thight, higher and higher. Blazing, scorching...
Swiftly, decisively she switches directions, dancing lightly towards her knee. Gripping the belt she forcefully jerked it tighter. Syringe instantly in hand she thinks of how she got here, those she loves, those she lost, those she fears to lose-- focusing on the minute details, the devils in the grandscheme 'cause her grandscheme just hurts too badly.
She is just so scared. She's just so fearless. So on edge, broken, used, torn down...
She is doing it for:
the love she never had;
the hate she never understood;
the anger that just drives her further and further from salvation-- salvation of self, salvation of god
Closer and closer towards... towards... towards? Towards what? Something indefinable, that she just can't begin to explain, whispering:
Don't love me. please don't love me. it isn't healthy, it isn't safe. a hard hearted girl with a soft touch. a perfect cliche. don't ever slip and fall, don't ever try to save me. your love just won't be enough. mine won't ever exist. no, don't let yourself love me.
She can remember when the embrace of a man who could keep enough drugs rushing through her veins to triggr the slow fade of numbness was plenty enough. She dreams of all her might have beens, all her never was's and never will be's. She tries to feel the fire of divinity that she once knew so well within herself.
One day she won't snort that one last line. One day she won't take that one last hit.
One day she won't tap that vein.
somewhere between 04 and 06.
She waits for the day
The day I come to her door
clawing with bloody nails
More animal than man
Allowing my instincts to run unfettered, overruling my rationale
She waits for the feral me
to come splinterring her defenses
She waits for the day
The day her baby comes home
a picture of the beast who bore her
She waits for the day
I come to take her down
5-3-09 Mother's Day
When I look at you
I see dust
Shapeless, aimless
cloud of dust
No true menace, nothing that can be considered evil
No danger, no threat
No, nothing malicious is eft
Only patheticness
All I see is a phantom
A phantom of something
that might have once caused me harm
Long ago might have even been
Beautiful
But cannot, is not, is never to be again
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Having crumbled
let the wind scatter
As it is, as it stands-- in the end
we all do what we must
5-5-09
vicious, desperate
She craves the savage, the primal approximations of life
Her will is cruel, strong, iron
Hear those feral ripping snarls
growls behind this once human heart
There is no death which mortals might bring to bear in which
she fears
No gods in which I believe save this beast who lies beneath
Animalistic instincts force her forward
Divine intellect plays lethal games
Risky, reckless
Hungry for the hunt more so than the prey
She will ring from me
all the weakness of the withering world
all the strength beyond
With each passing moment
I feel her tearing through my chest
The softest hint of fragrance
Blood I once possessed
lingers about her lips, my thighs, her fingertips
In fiery tendrils there still clings the scent
of the freshest southern rain
Come to wash her veil away...
Oh no there are no gods in which I believe save this beast, this beast which lies beneath
4-11-09
She is playing Russian roulette with herself- teasing the trigger, listening to the hollowness of an empty chamber, each chamber clicking into place... She is playing Russian roulette with herself just waiting to catch the bullet.
Her leg is lighter than alabaster, covered in bruises at different stages of existence: newborn damn near black, indigo trails, iridescent violet adolescence and beryl aged marks clinging, but creeping towards diffusion, inevitably fading into the milky pool of eternity that surrounds them.
Tracks. An amateur hunter could prey upon them, follow them right back to her.
She skillfully, tenderly encircles her thigh- now pulsing with old heat. Residue. The leather leaves not the slightest mar as she jerks it tighter. Tighter still she grips it, enjoying the feel of her veins constricting, jumping to attention. Then bulging- forced dilation, filled to bursting.
Each sweet little pathway has been worn out a thousand times or more. Recalling, with reverance, each one she blew when only an initiate into what is now her world as she draws up this elixir: whatever the day has brought her.
Gingerly she presses her fingers against the fiery skin of her inner thight, higher and higher. Blazing, scorching...
Swiftly, decisively she switches directions, dancing lightly towards her knee. Gripping the belt she forcefully jerked it tighter. Syringe instantly in hand she thinks of how she got here, those she loves, those she lost, those she fears to lose-- focusing on the minute details, the devils in the grandscheme 'cause her grandscheme just hurts too badly.
She is just so scared. She's just so fearless. So on edge, broken, used, torn down...
She is doing it for:
the love she never had;
the hate she never understood;
the anger that just drives her further and further from salvation-- salvation of self, salvation of god
Closer and closer towards... towards... towards? Towards what? Something indefinable, that she just can't begin to explain, whispering:
Don't love me. please don't love me. it isn't healthy, it isn't safe. a hard hearted girl with a soft touch. a perfect cliche. don't ever slip and fall, don't ever try to save me. your love just won't be enough. mine won't ever exist. no, don't let yourself love me.
She can remember when the embrace of a man who could keep enough drugs rushing through her veins to triggr the slow fade of numbness was plenty enough. She dreams of all her might have beens, all her never was's and never will be's. She tries to feel the fire of divinity that she once knew so well within herself.
One day she won't snort that one last line. One day she won't take that one last hit.
One day she won't tap that vein.
somewhere between 04 and 06.
She waits for the day
The day I come to her door
clawing with bloody nails
More animal than man
Allowing my instincts to run unfettered, overruling my rationale
She waits for the feral me
to come splinterring her defenses
She waits for the day
The day her baby comes home
a picture of the beast who bore her
She waits for the day
I come to take her down
5-3-09 Mother's Day
When I look at you
I see dust
Shapeless, aimless
cloud of dust
No true menace, nothing that can be considered evil
No danger, no threat
No, nothing malicious is eft
Only patheticness
All I see is a phantom
A phantom of something
that might have once caused me harm
Long ago might have even been
Beautiful
But cannot, is not, is never to be again
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust
Having crumbled
let the wind scatter
As it is, as it stands-- in the end
we all do what we must
5-5-09