Everything around you dulls and dims
and turns to shadow.
The air goes cold, and with an icy creak,
you open a door to my world yet again.

My hollow laughter
hums harmonies to the wind's sighs.
Night sinks its brumal fangs into the forest's tepid earth
as rain pesters distant mountains.

And you, you slither in across the broken surface,
irradiating the fractalized skies with your sour visions.
I approve: come find me, my little snake.

Before you crawled into my stormy world,
false gods never had so many prophets;
despots never had so many slaves;
you never had so much of your throat
underneath my charred, primordial feet of stone.

Come closer to me, my dear:
we could light the trees on fire
until the night turns orange and red–
we could give the world the kiss of death.

You must know the renitent tug
of a recoiling pair of lips–
have you feasted on their petty sorrows;
licked their dreams with delight,
so as to make the banquet your own?
I know how it feels.

I hear the echoes of ghosts within you–
they betray your denials,
paint them on your ashen, thirsty face.

My footsteps are right behind you,
as though they are my hands
weaving strings of seductive poison into your veins.

I'll show you nacre's iridescent whisper,
amber's auric glow.
I'll bleed my steel into your glass heart,
feed your slim furnace
with the escape you covet.

Now listen to the arms
of a throbbing bassline wrapping you in her embrace,
beckoning you to join her in sleep without memory.

I feel the tug of your lips,
my sweet.
Don't fight it–
wet your lips with my sanguine sin.

Sleep.