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The night is cold and bleak is composed of verses
that explore the mysteries of love, shattered humanity, life, and
a fling
with Death.
I hunger
I hunger for things that have a soul
If you have one, I will eat you...
I know a woman
who, in order to breathe, writes a line or two
of poetry
I also know a man
who dances, naked
in moonlight
with the ghost
of his beloved
I ate them.
I hunger for things that have a soul
and I am starving
Because when I show
the world
a beautiful
red rose
they only
see
the thorns.
I killed myself
I killed myself
a thousand times in fiction so that
I could face
this life
without losing
my Soul. With her arms crossed With her arms crossed behind her back trapped in a pillowcase, she was a candle in the night "Write a poem on me" she said and I obeyed, very carefully First, with my lips, then with my tongue, I wrote slowly on her canvas while she held me with her eyes - eyes that spread out like branches touching the biggest stars More luminous than the evening, I tore the night to pieces and dipped into her soul "Be gentle" she whispered with a sigh, like a soft flower to the moon while I continued to contemplate the fire, burning her secrets with my desire With my lips replete with her kisses and her breaths breaking on my skin to the sound of grace, she bit my shoulder, and pulled me up from the depths of the earth to the sun blazing in her body I pressed her cheek against the pillow and watched her melting, with every thrust The sheets, wet and swollen, wild with dreams She whimpered, crying tears of the moon - yet she was glowing We died that night We died that night when I sank deep into her arms and drowned, she held my hand to the other side of life.
that explore the mysteries of love, shattered humanity, life, and
a fling
with Death.
I hunger
I hunger for things that have a soul
If you have one, I will eat you...
I know a woman
who, in order to breathe, writes a line or two
of poetry
I also know a man
who dances, naked
in moonlight
with the ghost
of his beloved
I ate them.
I hunger for things that have a soul
and I am starving
Because when I show
the world
a beautiful
red rose
they only
see
the thorns.
I killed myself
I killed myself
a thousand times in fiction so that
I could face
this life
without losing
my Soul. With her arms crossed With her arms crossed behind her back trapped in a pillowcase, she was a candle in the night "Write a poem on me" she said and I obeyed, very carefully First, with my lips, then with my tongue, I wrote slowly on her canvas while she held me with her eyes - eyes that spread out like branches touching the biggest stars More luminous than the evening, I tore the night to pieces and dipped into her soul "Be gentle" she whispered with a sigh, like a soft flower to the moon while I continued to contemplate the fire, burning her secrets with my desire With my lips replete with her kisses and her breaths breaking on my skin to the sound of grace, she bit my shoulder, and pulled me up from the depths of the earth to the sun blazing in her body I pressed her cheek against the pillow and watched her melting, with every thrust The sheets, wet and swollen, wild with dreams She whimpered, crying tears of the moon - yet she was glowing We died that night We died that night when I sank deep into her arms and drowned, she held my hand to the other side of life.
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