Symmetry is lost.
Uneven scars on my hands.
A long sliver divides
one of my wrists in two.
A thick, wizened scrape
completes the line of a pointer finger.
This is how I know
Right from Left.

And my direction
comes from my mistakes.
My orientation
from a mixture
of hate and fate.
My scars ruin my symmetry,
and teach me to distinguish
Right from Left.

Cat-like she pranced across the allyes
her vibrations purred as she shied away from the street lights
On nights like these she always felt like an outsider
a different breed
hunting
so fragile yet so devious
she was surely a temptress with a hidden agenda
out to ****
for no reason
other than her own pleasure

I once wondered what the Devil reads before he goes to sleep in Prada sheets
I found he wears white but feeds the least hungry

Go ahead and eat he told me, it’s food for thought food for death
I can’t catch my breath or brain they brought me here

One dance with the Devil done by 12 I feel so lucky
My bet with Judas just jarred the line call the ******

He stabbed the Devil’s back too but this time for a quid
We left to ***** and loot like teens with stolen credit cards

Maxed out and blacked out murderers with no trust
****, I must be Satan’s rebellious son.

Now reigning in the fire I bring the flames higher
Than they’ve ever been but my back wont be stabbed like his.

So young and trite is the day

Born from this new light

Creatures of the dark and mist curl and wither

Only to return by midlight

The rose afar rises and stretches

Bloodshed velvet bleeds its regal glow

Smooth tips and enticing fragrance

Dark greens, stiff and sharp as spines

Beads of water glisten and shimmer

A blood’s true jewel

Thy shadows came in thy’s slithery way

Enveloping Devil’s Beauty

Charcoal webs and silver-black imprints

Spiral and intertwine, death and blood a dangerous omen

Thy Beauty’s velvet lips decay

A cancer slow moving and fast changing

Taking over thy body in one gulp

Last, final tips of red appear before swallow

Accenting and tracing its last magnificent life

Midlight turns to midnight

Bloodlines disappear

As the wind wails through the dead

A song, chilling, unnerving to us all

I do not shriek at bedtime, when the bad
cacciatore twitches in my belly,
and the mushrooms knock
a fearful tattoo at my throat.

Instead, I glide through the vestibule
of shadows that lies between
the bedroom door and the mattress
past the closet's maw - a crypt
from which I have exhumed many
a princess whose sweet caresses last
only long enough to cuff my trust
into terror; their butternut breath on my smooth
cheek scratching valleys down which my tears
may flow into my open mouth where
the salt tingles on my tongue as I cloak
my doom with the incantation of the innocent:
"If I should die before I wake...."