Sex During Surgery – Malicia Frost

Pure brilliance.

Sudden Denouement Literary Collective

I made a joke
of pretending to be injured
when actually I was only transparent
the light shining through me
revealing the unforgiving truth;
“you can be better”

but with his latex-clad hands wriggling against my uterine wall
it is so hard to stay anesthetized
all I can do is hold my breath
and pray for release

the source of my problem was an overactive imagination
he swore to remove carefully
“Everything must be kept sterile” he said
while using a rusty pair of pliers
to extract the last pieces of woman from me

It shouldn’t have been me
I cry into the piercing light of the fluorescent
I only wished to be reborn as a more complex being
freed from the prison of fertility and lust
this kind of love
that will leave you naked and ripped open
in a cheap motel bed at 5 in the morning

His…

View original post 139 more words

Holding Hela’s Hand

Bone fingers on mine as I shepherd ancestors
across the Veil, onto starry Death’s breast,
Hela grips my hand with ice and snowflakes,
her palms slide to my hips to ground my roots
as souls pour into me as black brilliant sparks
wreathed in white halos, flickering into light
Hela’s bosom is all Helheim, I drive in rainy
memories through those not yet in her kingdom,
first there is the overwhelming smell of decay,
a corpse baking sickly sweet in the summer sun,
slowly bodily fluids evaporate, bacteria feasts,
and the rot becomes wet dirt, Hela is beautiful
but does not shelter her girls from true passing
no antiseptic white wards here, just honorable
necrosis, hazy gray globes of eyes, bone white
hair that wreathes a half-flesh, half-frozen face
Hela smiles gently, and I become mist in her arms.

Anxiety, My Master

My eyes are rotting wounds, tears venom seeps
onto crater collarbone, I drag invisible knife
through the ugly swell of breast and belly, rue
my creation, my sickness, my mind hellish bells.

I am constantly falling down an elevator shaft,
and when I cling to the pulley, I cut my hands
on barbed wire, I do not deserve life, friends,
for I am a swamp hope sinks into and cannot fly.

My brain is on fire, bipolar beast, ricotta cheese
holes and smelly with fog of medicine, depression
mania is wedding dress restraints, I married demons
that ride me with spite, I am Hell’s bird, Babalon.

When you have wanted to kill yourself a hundred times
no, jump in front of a train, no, drown in undertow?
Does that make sense? Thanatos drive whispering you to
take a razor and fuck yourself up, get high off death.

There is no end, just cycles of pain, my thoughts
scream, teem with obsessive compulsive, a panic parade
but I bury the swords deeper and walk bleeding heart
I am the sheath of my torment. I carry agony well.

Frigga

There’s a spindle whirring in Frigga’s lap
and she stares down the World Tree eternal
churning bloody milk in Urda’s well, flax
becomes golden Sif hair, twine is dyed with
mead from Kvasir, it is her High Seat truly,
Odin is just a guest, her breasts Asgardian
skies, her eyes Mani and Sunna, her teeth
brilliant stars, weave wyrd and play lives
of Midgard out on her skein, beneficient
tender of the hearth, of my home, Frigga
does not like to be brilliant as Freyja
instead she wears dun white and fawn brown,
keys at her waist that open the Nine Worlds,
when she was young she was a Wanderer, but
few know how Frigga charmed her way across
the realms with sweet words and stories like
the finest of cheese and bread, bite into her
tales to children and elderly and warriors,
find the sweetest of mulled cider warm on
an autumn that speaks of motherhood harvest,
Frigga is tied to the seasons, the land,
she gave birth to light for a reason, for
Balder is what happens when death meets
life, Odin and Frigga are polar opposites,
that is why the Alfather kneels for no one
but her, he becomes a cabbage moth to flame
in Frigga’s bosom, and her body is All,
her breath could melt Niflheim, her wealth
is the way the Norns chant runes and cut
Frigga’s cloth to rainbow spindrils, no,
Frigga is the keeper of the Aesir and Vanir,
under her doe gaze, gods sleep peacefully.

The Green Lion, or Fuck Alchemy

So a few months ago in dreams, Michael and Samael possessed me at the same time, a thing they often do when I am cleansing the Damned with my blood or need an extra boost in astral combat, and their energy reacted very potently and I turned into this giant eldritch beast with them – a green lion – and eviscerated my enemies in a bloodbath.

I didn’t think much of it until last night, when I dreamt I was in Michael’s library reading his grimoires, and found an illumination of a green lion eating the sun that looked EXACTLY like this:

green-lion-eating-the-sun

And now it’s blah blah blah alchemy blah blah blah Philosopher’s Stone blah blah blah VITRIOL and I feel like I’m back on my hunt for the blood(line?) of the Dragon and quest for the Lapis Exillis.

“The green lion is also a necessary agent in releasing the blood of the dragon which is directly connected with the Solar aspect of the stone — (ex: Michael and the Great Satan.)”

It always comes back to the heart – or stone, I suppose – or maybe it’s all just a metaphor? – that Samael gave me, and continues to give me, over and over again.

“You sprang from the Heart of Lucifer.”

Can I just deal with grad school please?

Heart Chakra

The Prince of Heaven’s a priest, and Satan is a lawyer
cassock and cross hide fervor for a maiden of the flock
we meet in the abbey under shadowlight and frankincense,
gentle touches, soft sighs, the priest clutches crucifix
and drips holy water on my buttermilk breast, moaning
out all the hundreds of names of God in all languages,
it is autumn, wool scarf wrapped tight around a habit,
we drink coffee, steal kisses, my mind is a theater,
and under an umbrella in the rain he spreads his wings
and we fly to a heavenly bower, heat of celestial fire
in my heart as my decolletage spills secrets to angelic
lips that starve for human communion, Italian castles,
windswept sea, Michael’s realm is a Da Vinci drawing,
or perhaps brilliant Venice and Mediterranean lights
brilliance of the divine, I marvel in him, my devotion
is solid as mist, for its home is arboreal, and I am
lost in trees of my beloved, awaken in morning tides.

Archangel Michael: Dating Profile

So you’ve been eyeing that celestial hunk at the gym with the glistening six pack – or was it six wings? – and biceps thick as a seraphic ox.  In between fighting demons and drinking games with Gabriel, your reserved general, known secretly in the barracks as stick-up-the-ass, has started to well, grow on you.  Even his frowns and flaming hair seem somehow cute quirks.  You don’t even mind that all he seems to eat is steel cut oatmeal, burgers, beer and steak.  Sometimes when he’s drilling you in battalion formation his eyes crinkle in a smile.  He even got drunk one night and tried to kiss you.

Something is up with Michael.

Don’t fret, Seraphina or Cherubina, here’s a handy dandy dating profile on Heaven’s Hugest Nerd:

Name: Michael Archstratigos, General and Prince of Heaven

Build: Meathead

Skin: Tan

Eyes: Emerald Green, according to Islamic mystics

Hair: Saffron Red, or just flames

Height: Eons

Smells Like: Your favorite childhood memory, a home so dear to your heart you weep

Personal Style:  Manscaper.  No beard here.  Usually dressed in Golden Roman armor a tunica and sandals, or jeans, hiking boots, and a cableknit green sweater.

Likes: Ryan Reynolds, Beauty and the Beast, Star Wars, Enrique Iglesias, anything Lin Manuel Miranda touches, sports sports sports, war war war, meat meat meat, autumn, playing guitar, long hikes, Jedi monk crap, Abrahamic texts, swords, the other archangels, his soldiers, humanity, GOD

Hates: Samael, demons, false spirits, drunkenness, the Seven Deadly Sins, not being able to deal with a situation by stabbing the problem into submission – or death, Gaston, people that don’t appreciate literature

Perfect Date: Taking you to any body of water or autumn woods, playing guitar for you, and picnicking, then meditating and having a long existential talk about the universe

Thinks He Is: The Beast, George Washington from Hamilton, and Spiderman

Favorite Jams: Alguien Soy Yo by Enrique Iglesias, Joan of Arc by Leonard Cohen, Strangers by Aztec Two Step, My Shot from Hamilton, B’shem HaShem

Passion: Gardening, Fighting, Wrestling, Pretty Girls

Can Most Likely Be Found: Having an aneurysm over something Samael did, reading, fighting demons for fun or for work, stabbing things, working with his hands

Talents: Miracles, Healing, Divine Protection, Being a Cuddlebuddy, Listening to Allie Ramble on for Hours on End Every Hour of the Day, Saving Allie’s Ass, Not Having Killed Allie for Being a Little Shit

Favorite Quote: “We are but whispers of the infinite.  Divinity is in your hands.  Open to all.  In those possibilities, you will find endlessness, truth, a higher cause.  Never stop fighting, and illumination will soon follow.  Be all, see all, know all that you can be.” (Wow he won’t shut up)

Favorite Movie: “The Godfather”

Favorite Soda: “Lemon or Lime flavored drinks, or a Slushie”

Favorite Pizza: “Pepperoni, nothing extra”

Favorite Candy: “I give you butterscotch for a reason”

Favorite Holiday: “Christmas”

Favorite Country: “Italy.  Seat of the Vatican, after all, and just look at the architecture.”

Favorite Book: “Les Liaisons Dangereuses, or the Bible.” (Okay then)  “Would you believe me if I said Marquis de Sade.” (No???)  “You believed the romance novel.  I don’t read romance novels.” (Isn’t parts of the Bible a romance novel?) “Hahaha.  No.  That is the Word.  Of God.”

Favorite Food: “Linguini.”

“I also like the opera.”

“Why are you channeling me on your blog?”

“Don’t you have homework to do?”

Never mind.  Don’t date him.  He’ll drag you for writing his dating profile.

“Hahahaha.”