I can almost hear her unfed moans
Swelling at the sound of speeding bullets
From the barrel of a hostile mouth
The assault of obscure adoration

Quick
Like a spit from a snake
Slow
Like a slit from a blade

Echoes raging in my inner worlds
Possessing Eukaryotic cells

Safe
Like a theriac

Now my spirit’s
Fully aware
Of why the killer kills
But must it be this way?
Truly
Hell is a lonely, tragic, painful place
I know. I was there.

Almost always
She demands new flesh
The echoes biting on her inner void
Someone
Anyone

Then she held me like a trophy
Flushed me like infected waste
Poured on me charity love
Bitter
Like coffee with an aftertaste
Stained
Like memory of a plague

I would run if someone gave me an escape plan
Holding nothing but the petals of my healthy flesh
But I’ve been free-falling in pulped down forests instead
Reimbursing ployed cultured debts
Wearing my warmth like a scarecrow vest
Anchored in promises half-kept

Red is a ritual of colorblind saints
Do you even see what you are doing?
YES! Look at all this gold!

Sigh
Like flight of the final exhale
Another chunk for the altar brimstone

Take it all
All of it

Vacant
Like the Elysian state
Willing
Like the love at stake

Hallowed be thy name, Lamashtu
Cursed be thy fame

by

Amit Howard