I chase you like a dog,
relentless, unwavering,
with legs that tire
but never stop,

fueled by a never-ending desire
to be loved.

My eyes see past your soul,
piercing the depths of your being,

I've become a secondary character
in my own movie,
obsessing over your every move,
every breath.

You're the director,
and I want to be a star,

but alas, I'm just a pawn
on the board,
my heart beating to the rhythm
of your name,

a prisoner of my own passion.

A duality stirs within me.

A horned goat flashes its blood stained teeth,
with an evanescent haze that traps me in its vengeful gaze.
How I crave a blood so sweet,
one that only the goddesss Lilith could serve cold enough to eat.

Wrath consumes my mind, with a power that deludes.
Kali Ma grants me her weapons of destruction,
oh how I yearn to embody her death dance.

Yet my heart is pulled by the goddess of love.
She enchants me once more,
and the veil of an imago wraps my yearning heart within.

I am neither the Kali nor the Aphrodite, for both lie within.
As above, so below,
as the shadow, so the soul.
May Baphomet guide me down this untraversed path,
and may all who stand in my way feel the power of my wrath.

I have been cursed by the spell of Aphrodite.
No matter how much wrong you do,
I am a fool blinded by you.
You could drag my soul through the waters of Styx,
with a spell so powerful that it would delude me to think Tartarus itself was greater than Olympus.
I can no longer speak your name upon my lips,
for whenever I do, it is an incantation to you.

Yet no matter how much I curse your name,
I cannot help but to be in awe of your beauty.
Your mere memory itself makes me fall deeper into your spell.
I am a madman, longing for just a whiff of your perfume.
I curse your name, but in the shadows I worship you.
Never have I seen true beauty until I looked upon your face.
How I curse Aphrodite for working through the vessel that is you.

I writhe in its black tar,
gasping for air, as my own breath slips from my fingertips.
It seeps beneath my skin
and sinks its daggered claws within.

Darkness surrounds me, as I look one last time to the moon lighting the sky.
Only when I taste the kiss of death
do I seek the comfort of life.
Yet everyday agony takes ahold of me,
so in my last breath I inhale the void.

Peace was always a stranger to me;
my company was of suffering and solitude,
but now I shall lay my weary eyes to rest.
Maybe in another life agony will be a stranger to me,
but I can take her no more.

And when our corpses are six feet under,
I know our bones will find one another.
Rotting away through human decay,
our love is more than a mortal display.
I will take my bouquet from the flowers placed upon the graves.
With this cup, maggots in hand,
may the moon bless our matrimony far below the fleeting world of man.
The souls of the tombstones awaken from their slumber, as we profess our undying love for one another.  
Our spirits will dance among the deceased,
as we are wed,
rotting six feet beneath.