Do you hear the old gods singing?
Through marble bones
And filtered sunlight
Cold and undying
And forced into placidity.
Yet still they sing.
Green leaves glide in the soft wind
Like seraphs blowing kisses.
I hear April calling for a renaissance
As the cherry trees begin to bloom.
But nature’s beauty is not enough
To turn my thoughts pretty.
The breeze bites at my ankles,
Urging my blemished heart to heal.
So I rear my idle head at Venus
And spit red venom.
“**** your renaissance.”
venus myth spring sun flower
A long, impervious silence
And suddenly he is next to her.
She murmurs shyly into her lap
And scrapes at the bedsheets with ragged nails
And he smiles.
He is closer now. Closer than before.
She can smell cologne and anticipation.
She wonders if it’s his or her own,
But then he leans in
And the thought is pushed away;
Until the next time.
love boy forget close
Standing tall and proud,
They stretch and scratch at the sky like daggers unsheathed -
Lost in their monumental presence,
You finally understand
What it feels like to be meaningless,
Insignificant and meager as you wander,
Ant-like, among the monoliths.
Torture skulks around in thought
When it grows constant.
However sweet or illogical,
The mind will groan under the weight of it’s presence.
And when remembering on continually
Comfort can be found
In the harsh throb of reminiscence.
It is too late -
The thick stench of sin has set root in my marrow
And my bones have begun to rot.
I can feel myself breathing blood,
So I crane my neck until I hear a bone snap.
I try and try to run to the toothless moon
Spilling screams and red satin,
But the long hallway leads nowhere.
A wolf at heart,
I rip the tainted skin from my fingertips
And breathe life through the wound.
I wish I could see God
Falling from his mighty perch
Just as I see the devil
In the stained marble of my bathroom sink.
She rose slowly from a bended knee,
Young cheeks drained of color.
Thoughts fought for control of her lips,
Which never did part.
Her careless wit, her charming laugh,
Never did seem so far away from the girl
Now curled around herself with grief
Crying silent silver tears.
The loss of love is a brutal storm -
Quick to approach and destroy
And passing languidly once the damage is absolute,
With just a cold breeze left in commemoration.
We watched patiently as she placed a porcelain mask
Over her furrowed brow;
Mere bandages covering a gaping wound.
Dodging curious eyes and painting on a lying smile -
Locking herself safely underneath.