a child stands before you
begging to devour your wit
praying to steal your eyes.
he is looking at you,
he who no longer has a body
no longer has a voice,
he who was made translucent,
he is looking
through you
and howls his white-hot heart:
'how does one live,
how can one love,
if one feels no anguish?
first, there lies death;
then, a massacre of void-kissed beliefs.
and then, only then, can there be life
which bears little importance.'
the sage muse of tragedy
holds in her forgiving palm
the secret of your
divine-poisoned sap,
she kisses your bones;
tied together by vine branches
born from the hands of fervid dionysus.
you hear her inside your skin:
'i know how weary your throat is
of singing (screaming) the same hymns.
dip them in terror, see them
drip with slaughter and doom
and ablaze cries and a
long-forgotten deity’s roar and —'
the last words die off
between your soiled fingers,
on the bloodstained ground.
Nov 15, 2020
Nov 15, 2020 at 11:36 PM UTC
a child stands before you
begging to devour your wit
praying to steal your eyes.
he is looking at you,
he who no longer has a body
no longer has a voice,
he who was made translucent,
he is looking
through you
and howls his white-hot heart:
'how does one live,
how can one love,
if one feels no anguish?
first, there lies death;
then, a massacre of void-kissed beliefs.
and then, only then, can there be life
which bears little importance.'
the sage muse of tragedy
holds in her forgiving palm
the secret of your
divine-poisoned sap,
she kisses your bones;
tied together by vine branches
born from the hands of fervid dionysus.
you hear her inside your skin:
'i know how weary your throat is
of singing (screaming) the same hymns.
dip them in terror, see them
drip with slaughter and doom
and ablaze cries and a
long-forgotten deity’s roar and —'
the last words die off
between your soiled fingers,
on the bloodstained ground.
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