#datura
At night,
I have a terrible urge
to be sentimental.
It's as if my insecurities
are a Datura bud,
lying dormant in the day,
but flowering under the moon.
May 10, 2021
May 10, 2021 at 4:42 PM UTC
I had told no one
Where that speaking plant rose;
For, it bent where no eyes could look
And where the woods became a mirage.
It led to where Daphne took,
And where the butterfly seed would ride.
Sent from a moonlit breeze
near the noxious smell of the tide.
It grew in marsh where all rested still, separate from time;
Where, the digits of the woods can grab you
and the Green Lord wears a Henbane Crown.
So watch where you step when you are among my kind.
May 26, 2019
May 26, 2019 at 2:06 PM UTC
To thy “stranger”, I would say:
Wouldst thee with flaming embers play?
What wouldst thou give me, for my lore?
A service, or gift from a distant shore?
Ah, I have it—give me a Kiss
I’ll be satisfied with this
“A trifle!" Yea, I do not jest
Since curiosity will not rest
I deem this the fairest price
For my confession of many a vice
In good faith I deign to wait—
‘til my tale is done—thy lips to sate
Sit, for though this tale is short
Thou art my guest in this misted Court
I am a child with a demon’s heart
A confection with a center ****
Through my veins runs not vampyr’s liquor
Rather, ground glass and honey are my ichor
Silk and lace may conceal the malice
But even such are stained, like a tarnished chalice
Raiment white I wear no longer
Storm and night by far are stronger
Tainted as the tainted come
Lust I’ve tasted, and then some
The sweet bite of teeth I’ve often felt
But mine own claws have more damage dealt
For how can shadows of bruises compare
To the unhealed slashes beneath my hair?
But lesser are all blades, fangs, and claws
Than the candied toxins from these tiny jaws
Words—not spells—in many tongues
Physic’ly powered by caged lungs
Caressing, weaving, setting hearts a-daze
Twisting, stabbing, fiery raze
Finally, sever, the building craze
Suffering will not this parasite faze
Their fresh hot tears—my wine
But at Death I draw the line
Darkness in an Angel’s guise
Deception, too, I despise
I can die
But cannot lie
Why so pale and trembling, my dear?
I daresay I know what will give thee cheer
Have my lips—a gift, not a payment
Into the void thy fears will be sent
Thou wilst forget all thy joys and regret
And stay for eternity, as my human pet…
How may I say this, with a face so merry?
Why, ‘tis simple—I am a faerie
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 12:39 AM UTC