You approach me,

wearing nothing but a tank top,

a grayish piece of cover-naught,

the kind of slutty outfit you know

will turn me on

//

You approach me,

carrying the sharpened knives,

they glisten in the candle light,

making my heart pound faster,

my chains could not be tighter

//

You approach me,

with the seductive smile of an

assassin, unaware of my awareness,

& my reluctance to the dying

process

//

You approach me,

in heels of steel,

excessive streaks of black

circling your tear filled

eyes

//

You approach me,

and I beg for your understanding,

for your mercy, knowing all to well,

I had this coming, this was all

On me

//

You approach me,

wearing nothing but a tank top,

Pouring the candle wax indifferently

Carving your name into my loins

& with a lustless moan I surrender

I picture myself in a grand old mansion,

Somewhere in the countryside, somewhere

Not far from everything convenient

.

I picture myself alone, and as I stand there

Leniently abiding your rules I tap my foot,

Wondering if you might attend my show

.

I picture myself as someone capable of

Loving, yet knowing that such life is wasted,

Berated the words I express to you daily

.

I picture myself in black and white,

Black as night,

White as fright

.

I picture myself as the knight in armour,

Sooted black,

From hell’s fiery abyss inescapable

.

I picture myself as Snow White,

Snorting from a rundown pack of four,

Never recalling what went on before

.

I picture myself a photograph discovered,

In the the burnt down castle, at the

End of the country lane, in the countryside

I once called mine

& so it begun: with a tender kiss from the

Angel of Verdun. As we embraced, our

Lonely childhoods found a common

Ground. Once more we became; we were

Born again in the shadows of their faith.

Not longing for a divine outcome, merely

Wanting to repent & to find solace we set

Out to conquer the world like the children

We were. They sang our prayers as we

Progressed across the worlds torched by

Their words, by their hunger for more; their

Hunger for all was all we saw: the children

Of the future kind left to gnaw on the barren

Bones of the old garde. How brightly this

Singular world is burning, fuelling their

desires; never stopping, never turning. We

Once kissed at the fires of Verdun, now

Hell awaits us, our legacy in ruins

There are no fish in the lakes of home / the lands of old are barren and cold / their fruits of our labour hangs low and ripe / I pick none of their temptations / patiently awaiting God’s final waver / the review of incredulity / to determine my fate / the road ahead & my final pay

we were intriguingly close once upon a lifetime ago / within touching distance some would still argue / croocked fingers tracing the thin air / the dried up lips & abandoned mines of otherness / the droughts from tears abandoned between shallow acres of grass; haymaking / like the rabbits we never were / killed by our innocence / our shrink-wrapped empowerment / a battery gone flat