Loading...

The Horror

She sleeps in the catacombs
and copulates with the corpse
 
She lies to the moon and the
stars and the night
 
At least the dead are honest
in their death-ness
 
I am with her
We desecrate the graves of martyrs
 
Even in my shame
I cannot stop.
 
When will Michael send his angelic army?
How long will the universe contend with this?
 
I am paralyzed
in her gaze, a glass pewter
 
Her jet black mane
and claw-fist
 
with the sun
she is vapor
 
And I leave
this worm place
 
to return
night after night.
 
The death cold at my back
and against my will

Liked or faved by...
Other works by Vincent Delatus...



Top