I feel the l blackness seeping over me.
It has been beckoned by the dark surreal,
It is what makes wounds fester,
And souls ache.
Why do I feel such longing for something dead...
He is just soulless,
Yet I still feel desire,
I wish it would leave my heart.
These shards of frigidness,
I wish would melt.
And all because of a man,
Who is now a demon,
No longer that man.
Will not the rain and wine,
Purge me of both unwanted love and loathing?
I am not finding the needed amputation of my torture,
I know not what to do,
How to make this end,
Without hideous suicide,
All I see is the silver moth looming in my face,
Mocking my and my pain...
Silver moth is no longer silver moth.
He is the prowling jaguar,
Black and gold,
Rippling muscles beneath velvet pelt,
Red eyes luminous in seething,
Unrestricting his claws,
Snarling; steaming blood flowing from his mouth...
He wants me to be his next victim.
The blackbird calls in a lime green sky,
Prowling jaguar is now him,
The changed one...
The longed-for one.
I am greeted by the smell of scorching flesh.
His red eyes glimmer black,
A gust of wind catapults at me from nowhere,
Brought on by a foul presence...
And the foul presence catches me,
Before I hit the cruel ground.
He wants me to change,
No, I scream,
Hideously sharp teeth gleam as he smiles in his gruesome way,
Yes, he whispers in my ear as I yank myself away from his unwanted touch.
And this time I do fall,
Jagged rocks pierce my flesh,
Striking my skull...
Agony, sorrow, helplessness,
It is going to happen.
The orange moon shines in the repulsively green sky,
Revealing my once-lover...
In his true form.
He aches for my blood,
As I do for him...
But his isn't unwanted.
He leans down,
Stroking my cheek,
A coppery stench on his breath,
But he turns to dust before I am immortal.
I had my weapon,
And I cry out.
He is in hell,
But I am still dying.
The blackbird calls again...
And this time,
My body is still,
I am dead.