A charmer with a soul as dark as ghoul
alluring the strongest smartest, of you.

In a moment of lust.
in a moonless night.
under layers of charcoal thoughts;
whilst the shadows glare and dance-
he'll SWEEP you off your feet!
your own existence, he’ll make you regret.

Ohhh Diablo, Diablo. Who did you sin with?!
WHAT abomination have thee brought on us?
thy hell, thy scalding hell is, heaven compared to his.

Backwards I speak.
in dead languages I breathe.
my bones I break, heal and break
music to his ears
all day, all day
my bones for his entertainment I break
the long nights we await.

Don’t be fooled!
he is a gracious, charmer.
your woes he’ll be inflating
your pride will rip and chew.

The blood drops dripping still.
you see it
he'll say what blood?
I haven't eaten in days, doll.

Drip drop, drip drop.

No exorcism is strong enough.
to free your
he'll know how to ****** the evil-
hidden in the cracks of your soul.

Not looking for subordination
he ain't Lucifer
he is the son
with the 7 sins done
for the 8th looking under the sun.

Together with his doll
the obsidian damp nights floating
in her raven coloured, double laced dress
his mouth with her blood smeared.
mind you the feeding, denying still.

drip drop, drip drop
in pain there was rapture
delusional prey she might be
yet delusionally gleeful
Oh what a doll!

"Oh Father Diabol who have you sinned with?
I am the abomination
dolls I'll be gathering
on the shelf abandoning
our ending in blood I shall be writing"

On the shelf panting woes
listening to the lying tongue
cursed in love
with Lucifer's son

Try along these sacks for proof of feral merriment,
in stilled eyes and on carnal graves. All whose rotting
limbs are well studied in 'ologies of human squander-
Red with laughter, plucked with all caving souls and
anger. Gasping, so, with lewd amusement of the dead
in jest.

Muspelhiem froths forth with cold hearts, lusting of
mortal slaughter. I've seen the men whose vial looks a
barrel‒ whose foaming mouths, birthed-stillborn of
Sheol and all it's unebbing horrors, can't restrain the
joy of culling. Hate creation‒ worship crude insemination,
ravished toward the making of wilful immolation.  

But what casket of pleasant delirium, brings deaths to
child's eyes‒ no wars of misfortune must be ******
of a playful kind. Hecatombs, artistic as day‒ homes
like Tophet for children to play. But whose poison
to **** me sooner, under Black Suns and darkened
hearts, as Lucifer capers down the burrow.

Upside down
No one would like to admit,
Upside down
Is how the awkward things
Appear.
No use in contradicting
Conventional ideas
Of fearing individuals
Demanding constancy.

Strange thoughts and senses
Only serve the purpose
Of gossip, judgement, derision
And isolation.

They thought he was crazy
When he could not relate.
They thought he was stupid
When he could not understand
And explaining was a defeated battle
Before he even began.

Only someone blind
Seeing beyond
Attempted to comprehend
His upside down world.

He saw colours where there were none.
Letters and numbers tinted
On road signs, newspapers and books.
Different shades for different graphemes,
All but black. “A” was red.

He heard colours and saw sounds,
Moving shapes, length, width and depth.
Fireworks in his mind.
Voices, music, shutting doors,
Dog barks and clattering dishes,
All had colours only he would know.
“B flat” was orange.

Numbers had a place around him,
2 was closer than 1.
Time had a form in space
Quasi-tangible that he could grasp.
Sounds tingled his skin
With tactile sensations
On a body untouched.
Week-day names and months
Had their own personality,
Monday was a short temper man.

Words and colours
Had their own flavours,
“Love” tasted like cherry, blue
Like candy.
Even personalities had auras,
While pains sparkled rainbows.

Finally one day,
Though it made no substantial difference,
They told him his condition
Had a name:
Synaesthesia, they explained,
From Greek, sensations combined.
The new word gave him a thrill down the spine,
Its colour was lilac and it smelled like goat cheese.

I’ll never forget my friend
Who saw the world upside down
Teaching me colours as I see
Only black and different shades of grey.

So I have this reoccurring dream where
I rush to my childhood home and
Open my bedroom door, immediately hit with the familiarity of the smell of day old crackers masked by Febreze.
My eyes search to find a cage full of rats.
I have never owned a rat.
Yet, there are about 20 of the fuzzy little guys
Gnawing at the bars of the cage, pink paws grabbing and clutching, exasperated squeaks escaping their mouths as if to say “Help me!” or “Welcome home!”, my subconscious isn’t smart enough to clarify which.
I open the cage,
A few of them are dead.
Stiff. Small. Dead.
Instead of waiting to mourn
I quickly scoop up the others in my arms
Cuddling them close.
The scenery changes to a pirate ship in the way that dreams do.
Slowly and in a way that sort of makes you dizzy but your dream self doesn’t even notice and it only starts to mess you up when you’re thinking about it while eating Froot Loops two days later.
The rats are afraid and hurry out of my arms
I desperately try to scramble them up
But one by one they all fall overboard.

Now, I aced AP Psychology, so I know how to interpret this
There are 3 theories on dreams.
Information processing theory says dreams sort, sift, and fix a day's experience into memories.
I don’t remember losing my precious rats on a pirate ship.
So that isn’t it.

Problem solving theory says dreams are the continuity of waking thought but without the constraints of logic or realism. That dreams are meant for solving your problems. It suggests my rats are metaphors. I love rats, and if rats are problems, what does that say about me? That I keep trying to hold my issues and insecurities close to me but can’t juggle them all? That all my chances keep falling and dying and I’m losing my sense of self. That I need a reason to be the victim in every situation so I will never have to take responsibility for my actions and I can pretend like my faults never happened. And what about the pirate ship? Like, I don’t even like pirates so why would I put myself in a place I hate and then cling to disgusting faults like they’re precious. None of this makes sense, except maybe it does and I refuse to admit it, I’m in denial, I don’t want to get better I want to stay in this awful cycle forever.

But activation synthesis theory says dreams are a product of activity in the brain. The cerebral cortex attempts to make sense of neural firings by creating a story. In other words, dreams have no meaning. So this whole poem.
Is worthless.

As worthless as a rat.
A small. Fuzzy. Loving.
Yet short-lived rat.

What is it that stops us from questioning
the scaffolding of our reality?
Why aren't more of us solipsists?
Shouldn't we all be like those
delusional violent ones?

They see no reason
to think the world exists
outside their heads
Therefore their thoughts influence
their reality more and more

All of our thoughts
influence the reality
We sense to a varying degree
unique to each of us

But do we really all, for the most part
believe some **-hum passivity?
Oh, what pressures magnetize our brains