A casual encounter, within a cyst to remember. Another doubt to be considered. Doubting you will ever deliver. A promise into the night. When we both witnessed the new moon bright. The glow shined bright upon you and I. All through that night. You wanted to try. That was all you could do. There was not enough motivation for you to sink yourself in. You were fighting and biting, in between your cut-up words. Maintaining a silence, which would never be heard. You cannot change the death within your past. The life you died in was never meant to last. Giving birth to future lies, while creating knots with your twisted tongue. Witnessing the cataclysm behind your eyes. Scarred skin you will never mend or blend. This is when the sleep sets itself upon you. Deviant nocturnal gestures. Remembrances of blissful suicides, while blossoming and blooming itself into extinction. Untying the knots, will only make them tighter. A pretty noose to match your slit wrists. Delighted blood feast. Dinning within your corpses delight. Mangled and tangled. Deliverance within forgiveness. Hail the western winds of frailty. Seeking their lusts from within your enchantingly tainted womb. The growling and howling. Mating call of the tomb. Impregnating its hollowed sacrificial tendencies. Regrets never tasted. Used and destroyed. This hand knows your blame. A shame you sought out. It slit your throat. Twice. Not deep enough the first time. This is when I will use my other hand. This is how they know your blame. The blood remembers, as the mind is forgetful. Including me. Our defamation. The subtleness within the way we quietly kill one another. The embrace of chains upon one another’s chest. A glistening glow of the reached for torment. Simple variations of killing within beauty’s garden. One seed at a time. One kiss and swallow of a slit tongue. Feeling and feeding the inside of your mouth. Paralyzed cries. Servitude within your bleeding thighs. A reality we have both fantasized about. The inner breeding of bondage. Longing for its suffocating embrace. One at a time.
Tag: birth
Every Type of Death has an Origin of Recognition
Suffer to remain alive. A blissful decent through, and into your rotted life of inhumanity. Striving towards carcinogenic thought processes; devouring wholly and wide. Deepening all you have ever thought you have known. One more dip into the death pit. Slipping back inside yourself from underneath. Dying memories submerged underneath and around your feet. The hypnotizing stench of the buried dead you are standing over. A deeper translation; penetrating what you have always wanted to release. The thickening pale stench; permeating profusely through your nostrils. A resistance to the translation; suffocating you from within its putrid depths. These were your own words; your own bleakness manifested. A faint recognition of the bleak origin you were birthed from and into. Every type of death has an origin of recognition. Your face within the constellations of the blackened night sky. Contorting within a black hole; no one else will ever see within your eyes, but they will always get sucked into you through derangement. The midnight death rattles a baby plays with. Movement of the eternal dance through your eye’s origin. A black hole no one will ever see or recognize ever again.
G.G. Kalfas 