...inside you...

The black savory sweetness mine own body longs for but is not quenched holds myself; and I find mine self still in thy warmth, cradled unwillingly for a future moment when we may behold one another in pale flesh.

Mine heart is that what discerns the apprehension in thy awaiting that which used to be joyous; thou who evinces abject darkness still feels the shock of harrowing glee for mine arrival indeed manifests itself forthwith in thy bosom. Thou cannot hidest thy self from me, for I know whom thou art.

From the moment thou hadst fallen I have been within, awakening to thy death began mine own awareness, mine own listless wandering being trapped as I find in such complete darkness. Mine own pangs scream silently for the screams echoing as they do inside mine own listless hole evoke nothing but louder silence. Thou mayest hear mine own scream a whimper as my longings go painfully unfulfilled, my desires burning me divisively, myself whimpers in transfixed weakness.

I wonder that thou dost not perceive, then it is known to mine self that thou dost hear my screams, for I shudder at thine own screams shaking myself to mine inmost, pounding out the rhythmical lyrics of mine own heart, we two are still one, still in darkness together, still entwined in flesh together. Mine own painful yearnings thou cannot but feel, mine never ceasing sufferings thou art obliged to hold, for thou art of myself and myself art of thou, trapped together thou and I still resolutely opposed in silence one to another; manifesting ourselves are but a single, intertwining ourselves in our mutual decadent strivings, we are indeed one: our feeling, our tasting, our feeding, our pangs are but a single.

For if we should happenstance to divest, to part, I should fear death again, the death of blackness such as the only life I knowest. If thou were to myself but a visitor, could I but not permit the intrusion and thence cast you aside; but it is not so. Thou hast made me what thou hast made me, even a child of darkness. Woe to myself, then, they who hate thou, for they would have mine own flesh be fired as well, and foolishly they make themselves of enemies, they cowardly and they weaknesses of the flesh, themselves shall not abode forthwith to a pleasant end.

But thou and mine own end shall be sweet, be so enjoined. Lift your countenance and awaken O Dark Mother, damned Queen of the darkness, for it is inside thou hast I been formed, and as thou release me from thyself so thou mayest be comforted that thy will shall be accomplished in me, thine own flesh, thine own blood, thine own body, thine own soul revealed in a Dark Lord, greater than thine own power, for I do not fear the day.

Until then, the black savory sweetness mine own body longs for but is not quenched holds myself, and I find mine self still in thy warmth, cradled unwillingly for a future moment when we may behold one another in pale flesh.