In the dark, I found my self.
Fetal, weak, and my mask cracking.
Petal pale skulls twisted, turned, and gazed into the ether.
Closer.
They approached me and danced along a merry tune.
How Saccharine.
The hand of Fate, er I mean, Faith came from neath the ground.
One.
Two.
Three.
The bony fingers reached for the ever expanding nothingness.
Her back arched above her head.
Her clothes tattered and torn.
She reached out to me.
From her mouth maggots crawled.
Even worse, from her eyes flowed something more foul,
the fecal lament of misfortunes excoriated by the wanton lunar eclipse.
I raised my head to greet this heavenly eye, rimed by lasciviousness.
But She.
With her hands around me spoke with a smoky tongue.
Touch me, she said, touch me like only the living can.
My good eye met with the dark obsidian abyss that was her eye socket.
With in it I saw a reflection of my self.
Yet not me.
The mask ripped apart to show my mischievous eye.
A wicked grin on the mask and a glare of the moon made turn away.
Yet I turned way to see my self tearing at my own self.
Opening rib cage and all.
She snapped me back to impossibility with a bony bite to the jugular that made crave her more.
The lupine hunger had to be satisfied.
So I preened my lonely soul and wrapped my hands around her spine; she let out a sigh full of smoke and THC.
She wrapped her leg round mine and came in closer, but with no notice at all, she pulled my hair back and shoved my head sky wards to witness now the eclipse meridian.
And with vivid clarity I transgressed past the fugue and thrust her dead body back to the nothingness she came from.
The nothingness she deserved.
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