There’s blood and bandages in the prison cell, swirling ruby sparks and filth where rats feast. Through the cell window the moon cuts the night until it howls in pain, and you’re chained to the wall, shackles on your neck and limbs, and you’re done up in linen bandages like a corpse, gore and claret red clinging to your bindings. I stand outside the gate with an oil lamp, meeting the Devil at midnight to raise the dead. You are writhing and roaring, the poisonous zuhama that flows through your veins a raging fire of wine. Lanterns leak oily light of goblin green-white fire onto the cell walls, all granite and smeared with ichor, and you are speaking in tongues demonic and dreadful. I take out a corpse key and unlock the door, and the floor is slick with your stains. Your Cabernet eyes simmer like a witch on a pyre, and as I approach, I take a twisted delight in your suffering. This is where you belong, caged in my mind, lunatic mad, my beast, my delightful toy. We take turns tying each other up in bear traps and guillotines and rusty iron bindings, we are each other’s sacrifice, and whore ourselves out for the quickest fix. Isn’t that how it is with demons? As you are prowling, growling, licking your wounds with a tongue that would drive saints to sin (don’t you know the Devil gives the best head, I mean come on, look at how he sings), I sit cross legged and hold a staring contest with your mercurial acid pupils. I flick my fingers through your blood pooled beneath me and my white cloak and white gown are stained. I take out a pen and bid you near me, and then I write out the names of God on your soiled bandages, and you are shivering and crying, and I am triumphant over Satan. There’s your wreckage of a heart, embodied in the form of a girl, and a weeping black void that holds the keys to eternity in your chest. You are too far gone, eyes swirling with insanity, and you tear off my clothes as I raze my nails down your back and pick at your wounds. We are bleeding together, the razors our hands, and we kiss with coppery mouths as we bite at each other’s lips.
To know God is to eat God, but at the end of the day, it’s you dead with your demons, in your own Hell for eternity, so why not make it fun?