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Hayley Siebert Dec 2016
Hark! These creatures of catacombs
Furrows and the weeping ribbons
Forsooth great beasts took a turn here
When the mind accustoms itself to violence
It bestows it….broken as the temple falling
The sword by Israel's cry!
Ghosts of the borderline!
Ghosts of the borderline!
Traumatic as hymens torn
By hands unclean by demons born
The ***** twas not consenting forlorn
Too many nights passing to the dawn

Allow when Yosef comes, his predator expression
For my milk drop flesh, he claims doth conquer
The chains of slavery he forged by Irish blood
Born from the veil of wedlock
Out of sullen sin, between husband and mistress
He took to which he hath none
Purple hues adorn the shoulder
Bare before the creases of blood
These years could not tamper the memories

So in night shade, among the ghouls
There is a hovering silver sheen
Groped by the tiny digits
I shall be its sheaf
Psychosis the cascade of reality
The distortion of time and space
An all hallows eve, the sabbath of subconscious monsters
The manic and depressive are the swinging of the pendulum
And the ****** of thy hand is the dawn of God
I fall, the intoxicating pearls down my throat
Reek in my blood, Jewish blood, Welsh blood, tainted blood
The dizzy fortitude to collapse
Will alter the reality and silence the darkness
Of faces disfigured, in death they have no stance
Thus my torment hath come to end
I give way, the sweep of the fall
Fall onto my sword…
Away from the worlds of disturb content
Away from the sacred flesh scarred and mangled
Away from the deep cavern of endless thought
To God and to my ancestors, who saw with no eyes fit to see
But see nethertheless my frail state of a tipping scale
I fall onto my sword, distressed as Saul

— The End —