The ice has set in early; I huddle within my blue velvet cave
Quiet, dark nights are so beautifully easy to lose oneself in.
There is a glow, a certain transcendental hush – no rush
Time has stopped for me, just for me. All for me.
Eating away at myself in the cold, numb fog
When I'd rather be chewing over your bones and gristle
You told me you'd prefer it that way; if it ever got too cold,
You said, Eat me, and feast on the carcass, the carrion.
Focus becomes a single point of pure, blue light
Shining in the distance; un but, unreachable and intangible
We call it many things.
Sometimes we call it love, (although it is not that, and we know full well.)
Consorting with worms and maggots; sleeping with the insects that crawl and sting
And bite; but that's alright.
Compress me into bent joints and compact limbs
Do not let me spread yet further – these appetites disgust us.
Yet we want and crave and need and ache to sate the lust
And slake our thirst for what we cannot drink.
We yearn for the bite of blade; the sting of whip;
Clamouring, clanking chains in the dead hours of the death-watch.
Cursed are we, and cursed again. These demons are naught but our own,
Slaked and encased in bitter gall and animosity; love for another fights hate for the self.
Wrap around me closer, ever closer. I wish to suffocate myself in your heady promises
Feed upon you like the everlasting leech that I am; won't you satiate me?