Her face is a blue stain under gold gilt
hair like a raven, eyes like sorrow,
Lilith is in mourning, night-madness
the paintings refract her deathliness
spilling out like shards of mirror
you could get lost in her thick tangles
you could drown in those ocean irises
Lilith is not sweet – she’s all musk,
quietness, bone-hunger, we break.
I drag my scythe through her canvas
smatter the thousand broken pieces
the crowd breaks and screams, runs,
I am all fury, a woman enraged
at the ghost of a demoness, taunted
by Babylon, yet I am the Whore
what I see in her is what I hate
what I see in her is me broken
what I see in her is me insane.
Did Samael or Adam drive her mad?
Did the triple angel’s harshness,
the slaughter of her children,
she bleeds each night with new life
she births wickedness and love
in equal measure, fierce defender
perhaps I should not hate her,
for sometimes I become Lilith,
sometimes I am the Night Howler
just like tonight, We Rage.