I love the way your arms feel
the way your hot breath pulses
against my neck when you whispered morning decleratiions, and midnight secrets
- absorbed through my pores - like a drug in my viens.
I love the way your torso spasms as you laugh
and the way your hands feel - the way your fingers - the way your shoulders curve.
I love when you and I together sleep soundly
knowing that you are my perfect blanket
that I am the perfect heater during winter cold.
We are the fitting puzzle peices,
worn and ragged through many handlings
bent and creased from past mishandling
yet still sliding without fault - without hesitation and disruption.

I want now to apologize.
this does not come easily
but know
from my heart to yours, I am bleeding out
love, nourish your own
and forgive me
for I did not know
the truth.

I got up out of bed putting on my slippers,
worn down through the years, to see what all that sound was for.
Haley was dead asleep holding tight to the pillow.

Her head kept jerkin and I remember
Mary sayin that people who ****** in there sleep was havin a bad dream.
So I laid my hand on her head
and stroked it soft
like how Mary did it to us,
and watched as she quieted down.

Again I heard the noises
and slipped out into the dark hallway to figure out what was going on.
I was always curious to know why he made those noises when he was with Mary.

I leaned against the doorway,
half hiding behind the post to get a look.
The grainy texture of the post underneath my fingers
made me careful about catchin any splinters in my fingers like usual.

Daddy was on top of Mary,
sayin out mamas name softly,
moving up and down on top of her with his eyes closed,
I could tell cause
I couldn’t see the whites of his eyes
or the redness of ‘em
seeing how he was drunk and all,
while Mary laid under him, her hand over her mouth crying.

Those tears so much like the summer rains
rolled down her cheek
catching the light of the moon
just like they did on the blades of grass.

I didn’t know what was happening,
but I knew Mary didn’t like it.

Daddy, not knowing I was there,
asked Mary in a husky voice,
scarcely above a harsh whisper,
if she didn’t like it,
and how he could remember
her speaking out to him on there wedding night
and such.

I know you feel as I do
you hear the pulse beats in my chest
see the glitter from my eyes
generated by your smile.

You feel the ache as I do
crippling , locking  fluid joints
catch me before I hit the ground

---to my surprise I find you don't---

and down I fall
--you let me fall---
I felt cold hardness below my palms...

I know you felt as I do
that something rather left unsaid
but then again...
I thought you kept yours safe inside
I love you...
or did--once.

I smile
its huge
its spreads and reaches my eyes.
I laugh
again I laugh
....and again I laugh
giddy and restless with waiting.
I bite my bottom lip
but yet my happiness
coughs through my lips.
I have to close my eyes
for appearance sake
I don't know what to say
Should I let you see me this way?
my chest collapses suddenly
when you turn your body fully to me
its hard to fight this feeling--see--
I tremble uncontrollably!
do I want to stop--no.
I love the way you make me feel!
and smile, and laugh.

Inside there is a sickness
digging firm within me
I feel the illness spreading
rooted, growing,flourishing
and from my soul it blossoms
into a tree deformed
its bark peeling with dissension
its fruit already rotted.

You are the moon
and I the ocean
when you are full
bright and beautiful
I cannot help but
be drawn to you.

You left as quickly as you came
leaving echos rippling thought
thick silence
as I lay sorely wanting
on sheets barely rustled
with your coldness
and my aching.

Let us create
perhaps we shall use machines-said he-
No!- we'll use our hands, interrupted she-we-
steel, we'll form creations we-
will use our flesh, bones, sweat-
oil and fire, ire, industry-
STOP!, no more!
Let us create, think no more of machines
let us destroy that impersonal thing
and feel the pulse of life burst through
like flames of magma burning, melting.
I'd rather use the heat of hands
not burning coal to fuel the fire of desire
that I wish that we might create together.

Who should I turn to
at a time when the world has lost its definition

Trying to find meaning is as fleeting
as painting on a wetted canvas

the colours bleed
STAY IN YOUR PLACE!
-is what I want to yell-

What I need now is order
and control

It's the day after
I've spent the memories on other things
I sat at a candled table
eased into wicker chairs
with plush cushions
and cigarette smoke coiling into the humid air.

I-among others- wet our tongues on sweet wine
and sampled crumbled cake from antique bakeries
sipped steaming tea from tin kettles
and laughed as coins jingled in our pockets
and happiness jostled against our souls.

I spent the day after
not thinking about that hurt
but rather forgetting for a while
that just the day before
you had fallen far
in my estimations.

My fingernails scream
Bursting with contrast against my fingers
Against my skin
Is that why you don’t love me,
Because my fingernails scream?

My hair is not the same
It curls in ecstasy around my fingers
Hiding my screaming fingernails
Like a lovers embrace.
But do you not love me, because my hair is not the same?

My eyes will never be as light, or bright
Or lovely as yours tonight,
But dark as the contrasting night
Is that why you don’t love me, because my eyes are not as bright?

Take me as you see me,
A shade of depth against the deep,
Or something that you cannot see,
Or fully comprehend.
Don’t tell me you don’t love me, because you do not comprehend.

Laughter climbs this brick wall
Rusted and crumbling,
Crumbled and rusting,

Deteriorating, until the laughter itself crumbles,
Lost between its porous exterior.
And what is left behind crawls
Scraping its underbelly against the crumbling
Carried along silken ribbons.

Trapped amidst my curtains
Tossed between, and inside, and among, my white lace curtains.
It comes to rest beside my head,
laid on my pillow, my silken-laced pillow.

Sliding deep into my ear
laughter soon gurgles from my lips.
Crawling along my tongue’s terrain,
leaving its waste for me to taste.

Echoed emptiness resounds.

Laughter. Your sustenance has left this place.
Taking with it happiness, lost along the way.

Taking with it happiness, lost among the bricks
Rusted and crumbling,
Crumbled and rusting.

Last night I had a dream of you dying
the frantic pulse of your jugular pushed against my inner palm
as I strangled you steadily.

Your eyes bulged,
and your teeth clenched
as your fingernails scraped the skin from my wrists

This dream of you dying was lucid
I woke
chest heaving
catching a sidelong view of you
sleeping soundly.

He flowed through me
like molten gold
running down the gutters
of a sacked Jerusalem.

The heat generated
that fire brewing and bursting
crumbled the stone I had placed
around my heart.

Only if for the night
when you peer at me through heavy lids
I don't mind getting lost
losing my senses
my "good senses"

to carry with me a memory
of you, and I in this place
no regrets, no solemn words.

This wasn’t the first time
daddy had asked Mary to come into his room,
but I was so surprised
that she called daddy by his first name
but I didn’t say a word.

That mad look in daddy’s eyes
shone as bright as those sprinkled stars
as he made his way beside the bed.

“Come now darlin’,
don’t make me beg for ya.
I need my wife tonight I can’t help it.”

His breath puffed out
in waves of sour miasmic *****
as he bent down low to kiss Mary on her head.

He stayed there
just seeming to breath in her hair for a moment.
Mary stayed stock still
in the bed rubbing my head
telling me it would alright.
I didn’t know what was happnin’.

“Can’t you see the girls are scared tonight?”
Her voice rattled horasly,
as if she was scared but she lay there firm.

Daddy looked around suddenly
as if tryin to find something lost.

“Where’s Kylie?” he asked
scratchin his head
as if that made him think better.

He peered into the dark,
his eyes squinted
a bit as he tried to see through the dark.

He shook his head
but I sat up and said
“right here daddy.”

I went up to touch his arm but Mary held me back.

“Don’t touch him.” She whispered to me,
then patting me on my arm until I quieted.

“I don’t know Don,” Mary said to him,
“Probably out like usual
lookin’ up at those stars again.
You know how she loves her stars.”

Daddy laughed again
then took Mary’s hand
pullin her up from the bed.

“Come on now Martha.”
He cooed kissin her on her hand.
“You’ve got to leave the girls to sleep on their own.”

Mary tried to resist but daddy only laughed lacing his fingers in hers.

I lay still that night,
Haley held tight on my arm cryin silently.
She was thirteen  
and kept whisperin over and over

that it wasn’t right what he did to her.

“Why are you cryin?” I asked her,
but she only told me to hush and close my eyes.

It must have been about an hour later
when I heard sounds commin from the other room.
The headboard was hitting against the wall
and daddy was grunting while Mary’s voice,
small was whimpering, almost cryin.

I was ten years old on that old farm in Georgia.

My mother died when I was three,
leaving behind three girls for my daddy to take care of.
He ‘took care’ of us good.
When mama died he took to the drink.

Sitting day in and day out
on that old gritty brown chair
pouring poison down his throat.

I’ll never forget that one night
when the wind outside was cryin' out
to no one particular

and the unforgiving cold
slithered in like a mist
through the cracks of our wooden house.

Daddy had been talking in his sleep again
to our mama,
which was odd to me cause she was dead,
but that never stopped him.

We knew then,
my sisters and me,
that he was drunk,
like always,
but when he started hollering
and crying for mama to come back
we knew that he was done out.

We huddled together
in my older sister, Mary’s bed,
while she lulled me and Haley to sleep
rubbing our hair back,
singing a sweet lullaby
that I distantly remember our mama singing to us.

That’s when it happened.
Daddy shouted out “Martha!”
real loud
as if he could hear her voice
and came running to where we were sleeping in my sister’s arms.

“Martha.” Whispered daddy.
He looked at Mary, eyes only a slit height open
before he leaned against the wall waiting.

“Why don’t you leave these girls alone to there bed and come on in with me?”


Mary, I remember
turned white as the moon on a clear night.
Her clutch on Haley and me
became like iron
as she stared with wide eyes at daddy.

“Not tonight Don.” She said shakily.

I wanted him so badly, that I’d do anything.
Except go all the way.
I stayed true to that
and waited like a giddy schoolgirl till we were married.

But by then and now, his love for me dimmed.
I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me.

That light that I would wait for every night
when he came home tired from work
would send me soaring.

And when we kissed,
oh boy,
it’s as if I tasted that metallic heat of the stars all over again.

But it’s different now.
He’s found someone else.
I know he did.
I can feel it like only wives can
when your husbands falling from your hands.

My past was comming back to me.
My own Haley came back
to take what was mine again.

I know it
I can feel it like only a sister can.
She was always a ****,
first takin away my Scott and now Chad.

She comes back to taunt me
as Mary comes back to sooth my soul.  

And my love’s fallen for her.  
The romance is gone,
and I pleaded with him
that romance, that blissful romance
would become something more
sober and enduring,
but his ears were closed.

He said he found another,
plain just like that,
someone who made his heart go pitter-patter
as mine still does for him.

Though he would never leave me,
that I knew certainly,
he chose to desert me in other ways.

He’s never home,
he does not call,
those sultry notes
he would have delivered to me
stopped coming,

and that embarrassing delivery boy
that would sing out for all to hear
that horrible three lined serenade never came knocking on our door.  

Silence.
That was all that was left of us.

I sit here, now,
on my porch faraway from that place that I had called home,
away from the hate,
pain,
and depression that had festered inside me.

But I sit here,
also faraway,
from the smell of the sweet honeysuckle
that would grew savagely on the wooden fence.

I sit faraway from the shimmering dew
that I so loved when laying out in the open country
for acres and acres that was my backyard.

I sit faraway from the luminous sky
that had so often taken me as a lover would in its never-ending arms.

I sit here in Long Island, New York
with a husband and no children to fill my ears.
I say now to myself,
a woman of twenty
that I only ran from one hell
to become so trapped within another.

Chad.

That’s his name. My husband.
We ran away together when I was seventeen
to New York so we could become husband and wife.

How was I to know that life would turn out like this?

I bet your asking yourself, “Does he beat her?”
No.

No. He doesn’t beat me. He wouldn’t dare.

But instead he does something else;
he hurts me, but in my heart.
Just like my daddy did.

I never thought that I could love someone so much as I love Chad.
Every time I see him
I can feel my heart skip a beat.
Its as if I were seventeen again when we first meet.

The sun had hid behind the clouds that day.

All else was quiet.

I lay out spreading my fingers
along the wheat like grass that covered me entirely
as I stared up towards the twilight;
wishing that I had only to jump
so I could soar among those bright dots against the cover of the night.

If I closed my eyes
I could almost taste those bright metallic drops,
like warm milk spilling over the brim of the morning pal.

That fantasy I harbored
to lay on the cresent moon like a hammock against the night,
only to have it dip me into the slosh of the Milky Way.
That’s what I long for.

Anything but here.

All I ever wanted,
all my dreams
lay nestled between those stars,
and as the morning sun peeked out from over the horizon,
as the dew that covered my body
rolled down gently
to form tiny shimmering impressions against each blade of grass,

as the first bird began to sing its song
to welcome the heated smell of lilies
and the fading of Pluto before the dawn,

I felt as if I would cry.

I knew,
when that sun shone
in all its concentrated rage
that my life would go to hell again,
as it did every day of my life.

Daddy would wake up.

All would go to hell.

This is the feeling of a slow smoldering
it simmers in the pit of my heart
-this mass of bloodied pulp- alive with emotion and breath

This is the feeling of eruption
with exertion my heart is squeezed
desperate as the child to get the last bit of paste from the toothpaste tube.

This is the feeling of shaking
of unwanted nerves and anticipation
of salted tears help back by nothing but glue and willpower

This is me, trembling from the hopelessness of it all
wanting to fight, to be stronger, to be more like my hero
but failing miserably-alone in the dark-crying like a child with no night light.

What a day this was.
What a life he would live.

He would see things,
know the sweet flavor
and exquisite touch of a woman again

as he felt his body filling out,
his hair growing to that same thick luster
that it was before he was twenty five.

The decay melted away
revealing new skin,
as a child would have.

The feeling of ecstasy humbled him
to his knees as he felt to pressure
of a heart and a stomach
of even his spleen that he could barely look
towards the hallowed altar
without giving praise and thanks giving
at another chance to relive his meager life.

He closed his eyes for an instant
and opening them again he saw the top of a coffin.
The satin lining that he knew so well,
the holes
and even the sprinkling of dirt
that showered between the cracks as people walked overhead.

His eyes yielded no tears.
It was a dream.
Like so many he has had before.

“*******.” He murmured a cloud of escaping his decomposed lips

He closed his eyes again
and slipped into that world
that was his second life
until the final Day of Judgment.

Born from death, he breathed his first.
Seventy-five years locked in the good night.

The memories of his past life flittered
past him
as he clawed his way through his grave.

First his hand touched the sweet air,
the wind dancing between his fingers.
He could feel his dusted veins flow
with the blood from his now beating heart.

His skin in places had rotted away
and he,
like the living dead
walked again on the earth
that he was never meant to tread upon again.

He stumbled into a small chapel
by the old graveyard
now over grown with wild flowers and pine saplings.

Walking in he saw people;
for the first time in years his dried eyes,
nothing but prunes in their sockets,
moistened and began to fill out.

His vision became clearer as he dragged himself along.

What a miracle this was, he thought to himself.

He was awed by the sights he saw around him.
The play of the sun
as it filtered through the stained glass windows
touched his heart so
that in that moment
he thought he would collapse into himself.

Was this truly real,
or was it simply another trick
played upon his imagination
as it often times did during his eternal sleep.

But it couldn’t be, could it?

Was this fantastical phenomenon happening
to him
or was it simply that he,
Andrew Taylor
had in fact defied the laws of nautre.

Again he took another step
and felt no qualms or aches of soul
while the people shied away from him
thinking him to probably have leprosy!

The very idea made him laugh,
the crackling sound
that voiced from his hole ridden lungs
surprised him and terrified them.

You are beautiful.
I stare into you
allowing myself to fall
diving deep into those dark pools
burrowing fast between your ears
so that all you hear is my voice
that all you see with closed eyes is the imprint of my face
and with each breath you take
you smell and almost taste me.

When we were new
I made plans
grand plans
for you
for us.

So young with
caramel fingers and toes
plump and soft as pillows
I held you close
and sang to you those
songs I loved the most.

And now you’re older
stronger, wiser
off to set ablaze the world.

And I am old
those plans full grown
and flowered rich
with promises fulfilled.

That Fall we call the other fall
I read those lines repeatedly
That Fall we call the other fall
I pondered

Again I read
laced with sorrow
tasting bitterness

I rolled that line
I condesnsed them close between my palms
ThatFallwecalltheotherfall

I laid my imagination above what I had made new
letting it fall and bounce like a spring
I had pulled them to tightly together

What did it mean
what did I take from it  
ThatFallwecalltheother...fall

Everyone thinks there's something.
Everyone believes that the gods know them personally,
sympathies with them on a minuscule level.

I like to pull people out from there delusions
as I reap them out from this world
making sure to let them know

if there are gods they’re not going to save you.

I have the power to take you in any fashion,
your name was marked and so you go

I never know who goes where and honestly I don’t care.

Those at peace melt away
like liquid sugar on the tongue
they are absorbed into the air
sinking like honey into bread,

and others that fight me
shatter like glass.
They're ground into nonexistance,

Poor *******.

I cry a silent cry of anguish
I'm never relieved through tears.
Instead the agony drops into my heart
forming an ocean vast.

Too vast.

The struggle against suffering is for the healthy,
and those who dive into that pool let themselves drown,
swallowing pain,
memories,
and disappointment
until their lungs are too full.

When they open their mouths
sending out their final battle cry against life
their own voice is strewn with the voices of many,
the voice of all others before them who have chosen this path of destruction.

Only the first to enter had the privilege
to let their voice be heard in that last and final scream
as they sank down into the darkness
lost forever from life
and even eluding me.

They were in a place where no man wishes to go,
where fate has no hold
and death and life quiver before the decimation
that awaits the two biggest killers of mankind.

All are accepted into that bleak and glorious place,
and those who do not
receive their penance
while others are forced through their own will
to take upon themselves the responsibility
to inflict horrors to their body,
spirit and soul.

Those who start on their own path of death
with his assistance
experience something much worse
than what I would have devised for you,

we are ourselves the worst of enemies.

I could only stare,
watching him gurgle up
his own discharge,
and laugh.

I laughed until the sound became so loud
as to solidify the air.

He rose from his body
and watched his mangled remains laid limply
against the tabletop

before I gathered him in my arms,
cradling him lovingly
before I cast him down.

Like a vase he burst into tiny fractures dissipating like dust in darkness.

“Death becomes you.”

I walked slowly,
taking each step

and tracing my fingers along his bloodied body
along the abomination that still lived atop my table.

Each finger felt the contours of a stringy muscle,
fat and bone left exposed to the open air,
the filthy dust clotted air.

“Death is close, I am so close to you that soon all will be darkness.”

I bent over his slack face.
The single light swung from side to side
revealing each side of his face in turns.

I bent so close
and smelt the metallic blood,
and to his lips a pressed my own.

The firm translucent skin opened slightly
and with it consciousness burst forth
through a scream that could double over even the numbest of men.

“Shhhhh, hush now baby.”
I smoothed back his hair
entangling a lock between my encrusted fingers.

I licked the blood from his face,
drinking in the clotted blood from his mouth,
******* the scream before it came,
rubbing his grainy tongue against my own
until they were raw.

I sat on his chest
holding his face,
cupping his chin
squeezing till his cheeks came together.

Oh and that fear!
The utter hatred he held for me
then made me want to kiss him again,
whisper meaningless utterances in his ear.

On impulse I stuck my nail into his left eye.

It came out with a ‘pop.’
I laughed again much like before.

The scream this time was loud,
more of outrageous surprise than of pain,
which came afterwards
in a low moan and pathetic cry.

I could imagine the dull pain
coupled with the sharp pain of his raw legs.

He was indeed a monster,
my own child.
Like me he found some want
of his torture and torturer.

In the deep recesses of his mind
he wanted for me to take him.
This would make the pain so complete.

Ripping out his eye
I trailed it down his chest,
circling it around each ******
before I threw it across the room

watching it bounce
then roll
to a stop against the crumbling brick wall.

I took him then in my mouth
tasting the blood and sweat
until again he became hard,

and with a grudging moan from his lips he came
and again I cupped it in my hands and made him drink.

Ingloriously he choked and died.

His eyes rolled upward
straining so hard he blew a vessel crying blood.

I rubbed each streak from his eyes,
******* the spatter of blood from my thumb.

“When I’m finished with you you’ll be dead.”
I told him frankly
before I began to stroke him.

The impulse came on so roughly
that I couldn’t control myself.
He came and I was left with his discharge in my hands.

Copying what I had seen him do to a street *****,
I feed him his own
watching him cough and spew out.

I closed my hand against his lips
and forced him to swallow
before I began to laugh.

The hysterical sound filled the room,
the vibrations shaking the hangings from my walls.

I couldn’t help myself.
As if a power beyond me gripped me
I laughed a throaty laugh before returning to my victim.

I stroked him till in his pain he became hard.
“You like to ****, and I am ****.”
I laughed.

His cry of pain made me stroke him,
clenching strokes which made him arch
and each time he came
I gathered his discharge into my hands,
cupping it as if it were water,
lifting the fluids to his lips forcing him to drink.

“I live for your pain you feed me and in turn I feed you.”

Again I pulled strip of skin from his inside thigh.
Ah, the close-lipped scream was music to me.
“Sing to me.” I crooned

before I peeled another strip slowly
letting the skin tear away from muscle
watching tendons rip
giving forth blood that slid down
pooling on the table,
then another and
another
till he lost consciousness from the pain.

“But you cannot hide within the confines of you mind. We must finish.”

It had been days and within that time he had killed three women.

One for each day.

Like an addicted ***** he mangled his victims bodies while they were still alive, ******* them and torturing them simultaneously.

I would have fun with him.

In the park he buried his dead,
each night digging
and refilling
a mass grave in the mountains.

I watched him
hidden among the thick sylvan night
relishing in the death all around me,
and still mourning the deaths that should have been mine.

There deaths would have been pleasurable,
gentle,
and natural.

It pained me to step on the leaves
discarded by the proud oaks and maples.

“I will not discard you.”
I whispered to the wind
intending for my words
to drift toward him.

I walked towards him,
my footfalls silent
with only the crows to give me away.

He turned peering into my eyes,
which held the look of one, just content after a meal.

“My turn.”

He woke to the pain of nails being ripped from his toes.
I enjoyed his agony,
danced to the music of his cries
like a pagan priest during a ritual.

I knew in that moment I loved him.

He and I were alike
with only the exception
that it was my job to **** and not his.

When I think back to him
I realize that he was my favorite ****.

The way he wreathed under my touch in absolute agony,
the way his eyes would roll
until the strained veins would burst
so that he was crying
watery blood replays within my mind
when I have no **** to gratify my lust.

What I savored most
was the white flecks of condensed spittle
that formed and frothed in the corners of his mouth.

He was arrogant,
from that I knew
when I first laid my tearless eyes upon him.

I watched and partook in a distinct arousal
that only killers can feel
when a soul is trapped inside its tortured body.

I watched silently,
as still as the darkness itself
as he stripped the very skin from his prey.

Nothing else can compare the sound of screams
issuing from the mouth of the dying.

The sharp constant pain resounded
as a bell chime would,
spreading out over his deaf basement walls,
to my willing ears.

I felt nothing sympathetic for the ******.

This man,
this man, insane and still fully sane
became another one of my countless prey.

How enticing!

This man,
who killed others,
intrigued me.

I want to touch him,
to kiss those lips set in a hard line,
red and full against his pale face.

Those gray eyes as cold as my flesh brought me into him.

Oh yes.
I will **** him in such a way
that he would wish he was never born.
OH YES!

The devastation of his retribution
would be so total
that there would be no place within his mind
in which he could retreat.

The abstraction of that day was ironical.

The sun shone and yet I felt no warmth.
The underlying freeze forever coating my flesh made it so.

The perpetual aura of filth that accompanied death,
that integrated throughout my protective membrane,
made me trash,
an anomaly cast into the world’s garden.

I had once heard the term of life described as a savage garden.

Indeed the sardonic cynicism of the very phrase
made me to feel like a worm weaving between each green shoot.

I am the necessary horror,
and my only purpose
is to find the dying flower wrinkling about the edges,
smudging the atmosphere of closeted peace,
or wrapping myself around a ****
that threatens the delicate balance
between
what humans choose to see
and what is tangible.

In this I strive for perfection.
I am the worm,
the earthen worm
sliding amongst the filth
and nutrient of soil.

And yet still I am the gardener
wielding my *** to rake out
plants that give the impression of being beautiful.

Yet appearances can never hide the truth,
and like I,
the stench of filth
and stagnated death (me!)
always hovers over those who think themselves
above the rest.

******.

I think it’s time for another ****.
Soon though,
soon I would confront him,
and he would not fare as well as my first.

Though indeed he would be different from the others,
someone new,
or maybe like my first in his own way.

I’m feeling reminiscent.
I’m feeling lonely for fear.

Where a tear would have welled
and fallen
I felt an emptiness.

My love.
My first and only love was in that girl.

Each death afterwards was never the same.

I hear the crows outside.
The signals of death despair and ******.
The very signs indeed that something has gone a foul
and that they,
whether from heaven or hell,
are here to leave no trace of the carcass no matter what it is.

They follow wherever I go.
Being who I am
I have no life,
no beating heart,
nor flowing blood.

But then again...
I am the bringer of death.

But where did it all start.
When did I develop this insatiable urge
-NO! -
Need to ****.

When was it that the gods decided
that I was to be punished
with this heavy task of taking
from one what I cherish above all things?

I am not sure. But a monster in the truest sense I am.

I relish in my grave burden.
The feeling of death (of me!)
as it steals over the eyes of my victim
sends a warm chill through me.
The feeling of total *******…

I have searched like many others for the meaning of life.
Like a blind man searching for his own sight
I come up futile
in my vain attempts to find the meaning
of what it means to live.

How can one find something so conflicting to what they are?
Against my nature it is to want life.
What has become of me, that being death I seek life and love?

It was cold.
I remember the cold.
The very smell of the air
as I breathed in and out
so slowly
made me to once again relive the feeling
of frost coating my lungs.

I held it there,
keeping the fresh air
within me
until it became stagnant.

It descended on me,
covering my whole body in a grip so soft,
too impassive to be called violent.

But it was anything but.

I can only describe what I felt with a metaphor.
A metaphor that feels so real
I could have sworn,
even now,
that it was truly happening,
the plunge of needles into each pore,
between each crevice of folded skin,
in my eyes and ears, numbing all my senses.

I wonder if that’s what death makes others feel.
Is that what others feel when I come near,
can they sense the imminent inevitability of their end?

“Please…P-Please.”
She whimpered against my neck
as I pressed it against her lips.
“What my love, what is it I can give you?”
My control was waning
as I unbuttoned her shirt,
exposing her ******* to the chill air.
They were ripe for me
I could almost feel them
grow under my hands.

“Please…”

she stammered again.

“Don’t do this, you don’t have to.”

These pleas were only superficial
I knew,
but I understood that she accepted
her fate.
The look was one of surprise
on my face
as I slid my hands slowly down to her jeans.
I let the question go unanswered
as I unbuttoned them.
I pulled the zip down.

“PLEASE!”

she screamed,
the saliva choking
as she pleaded.
The tears ran heavy
down her cheeks.

I couldn’t help but kiss her trembling mouth,
or to taste to salt of her tears.
A low laugh escaped from me
as I buried my face in her curls.
I inhaled deeply
letting the scent of her
shampooed hair overwhelm me.
“I can’t stop my love.
I’ve been waiting so long.
You’re my chosen one.”

Her whimpering became sobs,
uneven and lovely,
as I pulled down her jeans
leaving only her nakedness
between
her and I.

Then it was my turn.
Her eyes never left me
as I pulled my woolen sweater
over my head,
or even when I let my own jeans fall
to the carpeted floor.
Again I sat atop her,
hovering
for a moment
looking in her fear stricken eyes.

Those dark inhuman eyes.

First I let my lips enclose hers.
And though they were unwilling,
I could sense a trace of resignation
in her rebellion.

She was breaking.

“No, no my love.”
I grasped her in the palm of my hand
and her gasp, her open mouth;

I took slowly,

gently tasting still that cigarette
on her tongue.

“Please.”

she muttered.*
But again a stronger sense of her resignation
sounded
and when I let my fingers slide
in her
I knew she had given up.

She was mine, utterly.

I slid in her then,
knowing that she would be fully ready to submit to me.

I was never rough;
I was as death was intended to be,
natural and peaceful.
In and out,
in and out,
like breathing,
until her muffled sobs became sinuous
against my ear.
In and out,
slow and never rushed.
Her arched back
her fluttered eyes
all signs that it was almost time.

The waiting was almost painful
as I burst within her
sending death throughout her limbs,

watching the life escape
and rise slowly from her
until she lay limp on the bed.

Her soul,
her life,
lingered a moment longer
before I reached out
and sent it up towards what lay beyond.

“My love.”

I whispered against her deaf ears.

“My sweet love.”

I dressed her again
and left her outside with the other bodies.
Yet she I left farther apart.
Watching as the snow covered her
until she was only a mound of white.
Already buried in a grave
by nature.

“Do not worry my love. You’re with me now.”
I smoothed down her tussled curls
and carried her towards my bed.
Sweat smeared the insides of my elbow
coming from the fold of her bent knees.
Again she screamed
and struggled against me
but I held her fast.

“I can’t let you go my love. You are my chosen one.”
My eyes widened with the realization
that I have finally gotten what I need
and more
was still to come.
She became still as if in shock.
Her lips pressed together in a hard line
and like child she went into herself
thinking that she would block the coming
experience
from her mind.
But there was no place for her to go,
for not even in the recesses of her mind
would I let her go.
She would feel everything
that I gave to her,
and in the end she would
thank me.

I am death,

and it was her time to leave this earth,
this was my way.

I laid her down
and her whimpering became less.
Her eyes were moist
and glistening with unshed tears.
“How beautiful you look.”
I whispered in her ears.
My lips closed around her lobe
pulling
down on the cold skin.
Could she feel my growing heat against her?
Each wrist I bound
each ankle I tied,
I will not let you get away my love.
“I want to share myself with you.”
I kissed her chin
I kissed her eyes
and warmed my hands against her *******.
She whined
I soothed her.
“Don’t cry my love. Don’t shed unnecessary tears.”
I looked her over slowly
lingering on her *******
gingerly
touching her heat,
which I could feel pulsing beneath me palm.
She wants me.
I knew she would.

Staring into her eyes
I could see the fear that
I wanted,
could she see the lust
reflected in mine?

******.
I think it’s time for another ****.
Soon though, soon I would confront him,
and he would not fare as well as my first.
Though indeed he would be different from the others,
someone new,
or maybe like my first
in his own way.

I’m feeling reminiscent. I’m feeling lonely for fear.

She stood outside the rusted metal door.
She knocked once,
but there was no answer.
There would be no answer.
Everyone had long since left to the other world.
I walked slowly towards her.
She took a last draw from her cigarette
and ground it beneath her foot.

I wonder what her bare feet will look like.

Of course there was all time for that.
I will kiss every toe
and burn the memory in my mind.

She jumped when I laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder.
Her eyes measured me warily.

Ah,

those dark brown eyes,
almost black,
so inhumanly beautiful.
I will kiss each one
and feel the caress of each soft eyelash against my skin.

Her panicked fear set within me a flame
and all I can see now was her,
her hair...her eyes...her supple mouth that formed a perfect cupid’s bow,
a bow I wanted to open,
stretch, kiss and caress.  

I pulled her to me.
I laid my lips atop hers amidst her struggle to get away,
but my grip was like iron.

I tasted the cigarette on her tongue.
Our chests touched
and I could feel the flutter of her heart
as she laid her palms against my chest trying to separate us.

The clink of teeth on teeth resounded loudly in my ears
and against the night air void of all sound.

She screamed,
a sound that I fully expected,
the delicate pitch
making me rush in a bought of impatience
to open the door that I pulled the metal from its hinges.

I pulled her inside towards the stairs, towards our room.

She raged against me.
Pulling and pushing,
trying desperately to flee, but it was too late.

I would not let her leave me. Never.

When I only wanted love
You gave to me a sickness from which
I have yet to recover.

With measured steps I willfully betray you
With wringing hands and fumbled fingers
I set determination. Waiting has only embittered us
With distrust we lay together. I will not live another day
With angry words to set at bay, while we sit together
On a warm noon’s day, we bite our tongue
This anger eats us whole; surely you can’t stand this gorge!
The question stands rhetorical; I have left while you were unaware.

Why not
Why not lay here
let the room spin above us
while the ceiling fan holds still.
Let's watch as everything else spins away
****** through a hole
that leaves all else dark.

Now that I have you
I find I can't stand you
I wish you'd just go away
for my eyes go a flutter
when he walks on over
pulling me along the way.

My lips, pressed against hers in the dark,
under a streetlight
with only our shadows witness to our love.
She stopped
and pulled a cigarette out from her pocket.
The tiny flicker of a flame lighted,
she breathed in the smoke,
and let it out in a slow exhale.
The smoke rose,
curling and dancing
amongst the wind
like white silk it wrapped
around nothing
until it dispersed.

When will I make it stop!

When will I hear the sporadic
rise
and fall
of her chest before she was eternally still,

I could barely stand it!
We were so close to our destination
that my impatience would be the end of us.
I waited and walked and watched
until she came closer to that dark alleyway
which I knew she would turn down.
I knew she would wait outside
the door wedged between and below brick walls
faded and crumbling,
distorted
and discolored
from the erosion of the winter winds.
I would take her then.
Then I would take her.

Am I not allowed to be angry
when that time comes and all you give are singular respnoses
I grit my teeth
I grind them
each tooth clinks against the other
like domino pieces pulled together in a heated game.

Can we end this cat and mouse game
or am I too presumptous in even thinking that youre playing?
Am I even on your radar, or have you forgotten me already

How do I pretend and act as if I'm not waiting (impatiently)
for a call from you, to even hear your voice, I can only feign apathy
for so long.

My hands were cold,
but not for long.
They wouldn’t be for long.
She turned a corner
and I followed,
but
could I control myself
long enough.

Oh God.

I could feel myself hardening
just watching her before me.
Watching her
my love,
the way she shook out her curls
letting the snow flakes
          tumble in
                  clumps
                         falling sporadically...
some melting
while others settled
on her shoulders
    and some
still falling from her grace to the ground.

The way she ran her hands over
her upper arms
to keep them warm maddened me!

I could see each goose bump
that grazed her palms
and each small shiver
   that
     happened
  in
    spasms
as she quickened her pace.

I will warm you.
I broke out in a smile.  
The winds beat against my teeth
numbing them,
but they would be warm
      soon enough.

I sat idly waiting,
watching her through her bedroom window.
She indeed was the one,
and how happy she would be when I told her
she would be my first.
Coming down the steps
and
walking out the door
I watched her still,
anxious for the moment to come
when I would hold her in my arms.
It was snowing out;
the contrast of her dark skin
against
the white snow,
a mere smudge she would have seemed
if not for the golden glow that surrounded her,
it made me to recall
a single chrysanthemum struggling in a field of snow.
I closed my eyes
imagining the taste of her,
wondering if she would have the scent of a flower,
or
if she would smell of fear
when I took her,
sliding myself into her gently
-never brusquely-
but in a way that would supersede even her
if only for a moment.

We brushed the soil from our cloths
laced our laces
tied our knots
and hair back in one.

We exited that place with empty souls
and hearts filled with sorrow.

The almighty sounds  rang in our ears
while we slept we dreamed dreams
of our experience.

Some of us kept our eyes open
till they shriveled and fell from their
places. While others laid down their heads
and slept forever.

Others yet kept on,
walking like ghosts through this world
waiting for any comfort
or abrupt oblivion.

She remembers
vividly
walking in.

The smells
the feel of the coarse hard wood
against her feet
the yellowed and peeling flakiness
of floral wallpaper.

She recalls the meat simmering on the stove.
The stove which was old
bulbous and black-cast iron perhaps.
It filled the small one room lighthouse
collecting between the crevices wedging and
flattening itself between plaster and cement.

Each step made a sound
reminding the surroundings of her presence.
The solitary light bulb flickered as she pulled its string.
Brushing her cheek she felt his toes
swinging 180 degrees then back again
-maybe less of a dramatic angle.