My black magic perfection.
You and I were made for one another –
I the dancer
and the killer
and the lover,
you the shadow
and the secret.
I knew everything of you.
You kept me safe.
You gave me everything
except the one thing
you couldn’t give back to me:
my broken savior,
my ruined knight,
my desperate lover.
Instead, I turned to you.
Instead, you made me better
than I ever could have been,
and I became
your perfect weakness,
primed perfectly
to kill you.
No One But Me Remembers Your Name
Just Another Mask
You were five fingers in
and I thought
if I let you go any further,
I might become
the nightmare he remembered,
a crawl of fire ants
and slit throats,
the warm-skinned whore
who couldn’t let him falter.
You wanted to do it
all by yourself.
I screamed for you.
In the middle of the day.
Uncovered.
I did more
than let you go.
I pushed you away.
I should’ve kept you
inside me,
let you do
exactly what we both wanted;
I’d have died, before now,
killed myself to become real,
but it would’ve been better
than living alone.
All At Once
I am the one
who left you behind,
but I find myself wondering
if the situations were reversed,
if you would have done the same thing —
except I know you wouldn’t,
and that’s what leaves me breathless,
and screaming,
all at once.
Posted in Deathwatch, Fiction, Poetry
Tagged deathwatch, Jet, Kieron, poem, poems, poetry, writing
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Prayers
Omnes grandinem tutoris.
Ipse gloriam. Ipse Dominus noster.
Perfectum est beneficus defensor civitatis,
partem agrorum lucis.
Ipse moritur identidem ut unusquisque nostrum pro quo vive.
Hic est sanguis animarum pauperum largoque umectat plateas morerentur nos,
et lavit nos in rubeum mundum fluminis.
Ipse gloriam. Ipse Dominus noster.
Omnes grandinem tutoris.
Posted in Deathwatch, Fiction, Poetry
Tagged fiction, guardian of ilona, poem, poems, poetry, prayer, prayers, worldbuilding, writing
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Love after Love
It starts in misery
that shifts to blankness,
to exhaustion,
and then to acceptance.
Then comes wonder,
and then there is hope.
A little hope.
Then there is doubt,
and next comes fear.
Terror.
It wraps its way around,
from the root to the tip,
a grasping bony hand
coming out of the ground
to hold you to the very spot you’re in,
so you never move any further,
never get anywhere.
The fear stays with you,
even if you break free
that once,
as though if you look down
and back
at the right angle,
at the right moment,
you’ll still see
the skeletal hand
clutching your heel.