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In the space between
What we know
And what they don't.

In this room, that your eyes
Are filling with smoke
That only I can choke on.

Take up so much space
In this place, you and that
Fly on the wall.

We keep a safe distance
Until a red carpet rolls out
To the livingroom floor.

Find myself submitting,
Cause your mouth is so delicious.
Your eyes are so insatiable,

And this story's too salacious.

▪︎ mica light ▪︎
p-n Nov 2021
The epitome of what could have been,
I strike a match that ignites a fire in the sky.
My actions leave me with a half-hearted grin;
for I had realized you had left me to die.

You left me in another's embrace,
leaving me to be at war with myself.
You rejected me in this forsaken place,
running away to selfishly save yourself.

You left me when I needed you the most,
breaking me apart, ripping me in two.
You discarded me like a ghost,
so I turn to my malice—shattering the sky in two.

You knew I was yours, and you were mine.
But I guess... our fates were never meant to align.
Wrote this inspired by the new Netflix show Arcane and the song: What Could Have Been by Sting and Ray Chen.
Jonathan Moya Nov 2020
The steel bar that holds the torso up
gives it a spine and makes it art
and not some headless, armless, genital-less
mutilation pushed from a machine
going faster than the white signs allowed.
I see it only on my iPhone,
backlit with its perfect abs and ***-gutters
not unlike the headless *******
penetrating endless **** on pornhub,
the unsolicited **** pic galleries popping up
whenever I try to click away.
Everything  breakable and tearable in me
has been torn and broken
and yet I envy this immortal stone
suspended here in cyber space
that can be smashed to white pebbles,
pulverized to dust
and still never bleed
or feel pain.
It exists,
a twist of idolized flesh
to be touched
and wondered over,
polished to a high sheen
by centuries of passing hands
until the fetish leaves me
admiring and detesting,
the remnant echo
of the true and beautiful,
a once true and beautiful God.
Traci Sims Oct 2020
Walking up the rickety stairs,
Patchouli and cigarette smoke
combat for supremacy
Before I even reach the door,
and I step through to see
The everyday undead scattered on the thick carpet like so many corpses blown out of Wednesday Addams' haunted dollhouse.

Maybe it wasn't wise to come.

A cd player informs me that, indeed,
Bela Lugosi's dead,
And I cautiously move into the living room.
Ruby lips and ivory faces emerge from the gloom,
Incurious glances marking my progress
As an acolyte guides me to the Queen of the festivities
Holding court in a corner of the living room.
Her waist-length silver-gilt hair and damp skin like fresh camellias gleam in the candlelight,
A studded black goblet brimming with Jack Daniels
Is handed to her,
A token of homage she eagerly welcomes
   while nodding me forward.
Whispers behind me tell her story,
Of how she's seen a thing or two in her time,
And why her flat stare and Theda Bara smile give glimpses of her bottomless occult wisdom.
As her slim fingers play with a knotted black necklace,
She considers me long before finally declaring,
--"My God, you're an old soul"--
And she pats the cushion next to her,
An invitation to drink deep and close of her dark knowledge.
A cup of something unknown is pressed into my hand
and I sip, hanging onto every arcane word she utters.
Night slowly fades into dawn
and I wake cold and stiff from a kitchen floor sleep
only to see the Queen buttoning the cuffs on her white poplin shirt.
Smoothing her tweed skirt, she steps into her pumps,
Grips her cup of coffee,
And with a cheery wave, leaves for work.
Happy Hallowe'en, everyone!
Hamies Apr 2020
while you're sitting next to me
driving somewhere we both don't know
humbling the first song we've ever heard together
i recognize something
something I've always known but never truly said out loud
you, my dearest love, are my everlasting arcane
always kept close but never really understood
you are the most magical mystery in my sombre life
and i yearn to know you more, but never fully
because it's your hidden secrets
that are saved inside your heart
that make me go insane
and maybe you were my secret
i dreamed of in the middle of the day
and in the darkest of nights
but every one noticed anyways

my tender arcane, you'll remain
no matter if sun
no matter if rain
you'll remain
with no need to explain
oh arcane, you will remain
Within these memories
Are things I wish to say
I drown in the thoughts of you
The ghosts of yesterday
Whisper the pain away

Where ever you are
Be loved

When your silver soul's a blaze
when it's wild, when it's free
When you can't find your way
Or the day's to grey to see
Even when you're life's a lie
Or full of battle cries

Where ever you are
Be loved

Oh fly away my heart
To be with you each day
And wash away this sadness
This missing you decay
look for me my only ones
Within the stars Above

Where ever you are
Be loved

Where ever you are . . .
With love,

The drive
The moon is wept
Like an autumn dream
In sight of the sun
She shines and gleams
And opens the night
Along its seams
All above my lady

The stars are shy
When the clouds grow bold
With trillions of tears
The nights on hold
The knives in the wind
Are sharp and cold
And I am with my lady

The fires within
Will go out one day
And I hope I've found
True love to say
In the ear of death
"I'd rather stay"
And be home, beside my lady
Where ever you are, be loved.
Juhlhaus Jan 2019
Hangs over head by a solitary hair
Pommel set with Lucifer's star
Crossguard of the crescent moon
The Blade a king's interminable doom
On January 31, 2019 in the darkness before dawn I witnessed the triple conjunction of Venus, Luna, and Jupiter in perfect alignment, creating the shape of a long sword in the southern sky. Venus (the "Light Bringer") adorned the pommel, the waning crescent moon formed the crossguard, and kingly Jupiter gleamed at the blade's point. The omen was revealed to me as the fabled Sword of Damocles (dam-uh-kleez) which hangs over all those in seats of power, suspended by a single strand of hair.
Juhlhaus Jan 2019
Wellspring of blood and gold
In flame and glory ever
Doest thou faithful rise
Cast off thy vapor shrouds
Radiance of ancient godhood undimmed

Magnified by singing ice
As prophesied in the late darkness thy
Hoped triumph heralded while
Bearers chained on metalled rails
Muttered protest under
Hoary breath of polar air

But lo! The brazen promise of thine
Image graven in beholder's eye
Rings hollow in the bitten ears
And the stung flesh
Feels thy boasted fire
Not at all

Above thee stands the city's goddess proud
So virile once thou smilest
Upon her white clad shoulder now
Ceres scorns thine impotence turns not
But fixes her steeled gaze
On the frozen north
The mythos of a -15˚F Chicago sunrise.
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