A martyr desecrated
For the study of sickness
Scholarly hubris
Awakened the hunters
Out of their tombs
Broken and fractured
They hunt again
Heading the call
The ice is melting
In far northern lands
What was once sealed
Is freed at long last
The savior is dead
Mummified and embalmed
His service meaningless
Against human pride
The savior is dead
Long live the night

unfurl,
for this body can be unworldly frenzy.

sweet child
barebacked in the glimmering half-light;

adorn your skin

with shell and bone,
with coiled vines and fig leaves-
you love equally
gardens and caves.

before the clouds became
contemporaries,
your arms were flesh

athirst and empty;
lurching
towards sugary fruit.

I let the plane fall from the sky.
Pieces broke off, and
Landed in forests nearby.

Now things are damaged;
They can’t be fixed.
Do all relationships end like this?

The pilot until the end
I let the plane fall
In it me and my only “friend”.

Whiskey drips from his lips
like an endless stream of lies.

It's bitter, you think.
Like black coffee,
like harsh asphalt,
like the bleach you use
to clean up the mess that
isn't yours.

Are you thinking about the drink
or his lies?

But it doesn't matter;
they both leave the same taste
on your tongue.

It's perfect

He threw compliments at you
until they stung.

He kissed you
until there were violet bruises
blooming across your arms.

The fingers he traced
up and down your back
turned into thorns.

His words morphed into
bombs.

It's perfect.
Until it's not.