How to Eat a Life

First you start with the milky dream marrow:
sip down sweet memories, savor dew of sleep,
next the kidney, savior of the veins, chomp
off the meat of meadows and swallow it whole.
The lungs are sashimi butterflies, flitting
about your throat into reverse pupation, fly
down to your gut and you breathe in her trail.
Nurse her milk, don’t squander a single drop –
the white ruminations will cleanse the palate,
ready you for her blood, how succulent she is,
how much you want to take all of her into your
throat and swallow, bite, suck, chew out sin
and solace, how much you want to rape a life,
to destroy the beauty she raised like vines
from a life of hardship, you partake of her
but you have no inkling of her truths, no idea
of how her giving tasty flesh can be cruel,
can stand its ground, and in time, the meat
grows gristle, gets tough, you feast on her
less, and soon she is regenerating in your
dark void of a gullet, she burst from your
heart full-formed like some autumnal Athena,
it is a time for endings, she is no platter,
no feast for Satan, this is now how to eat
a life, no, this is about how to save her.

Fucking the Night

You pin me not with grace but with ruin, and your body is black smoke like frankincense crisps from a vestibule – vessel – vassal of sin and my ruin.  Pale skin like a waning moon brimming with abyssal sorrow, your eyes are red craters, and your heart just a mockingbird pressed to my breast.  Your fingers are inside me reaching through my womb up my guts to my brains and from them you pluck all reason, and I lick blood from your lips and it is black as a beetle.  Creeping things are rot inside you, and the maggots of your lungs spew from your lips and drown me – I’m deepthroating decay, and it is sickly sweet as roadkill and lesions and necrosis.  I thought we broke up, didn’t we?  Why are you making the two-backed beast with me after I trashed your wedding ring as if nothing happened?  I’m not saying no, and your tongue is slithering snake down my throat and your manhood is the night and your cum freezes my innards until I become Nyx, cold and unmoving.  Your cloak envelops us, and it is the same Grim Reaper robe I played with at 12 on October nights when the autumn was filled with secrets.  I would wrap myself in your musk and spin circles around your pile of bones as you sharpened a scythe with a whetstone.  Your scythe is black, but the one you gifted me is white, just like my deathly robes – cream and satin roses, all softness to your harshness.  Your brother set wards up all over my room in red blood and ceremonial sigils, but the gods and angels let you return over and over again, and I no longer have an altar to you, so maybe taking your gall into my crevasses is some kind of lesson.  All I know is that you are half bone like Hela and half flesh like a warrior, and as I trace phalanges and scapula, your calcium is slick with tears, and I pull you close and kiss the emptiness of your heart hollow, and I am the mistress of nocturnal emissions.

Strange Dreams

You drag me around by a golden braid set to strangle
I crash into the floors, pound walls, smash windows,
I break free of your chains and say, nevermore shall
you bruise me and batter me, I cascade out the door
go soaring towards freedom, but junkie demons prowl,
light up a joint, drag me into their Jaguar, speeding
through summer, I clock them and run, fly to the ruins
where your heart is in glass, hellish processions parade
through the mausoleum, turn salt water ice, I freeze
under the gaze of giants, and you are cherry red eyes,
black helm, ears like razors, black cloak of midnight,
I strike your chest with a silver hammer to reveal rot
just a rib cage and spine, you choke me and caress me
say I am the battle prize, place me in your abyssal
void so that my gods are safe from your stain, I the
Valkyrie that plunges into your abyss to banish you,
we are moon dust and rockets, we kiss on a crash site,
a crater our bed, I exorcise all earthly blood in you
there are shark teeth at my neck and I fight with lips
that lock onto danger, I shield the world from your sin,
destroy you, erasure, and the green earth is whole again.

Autumnal Queen

The Mother of Ancestors is cold as Niflheim,
yet in her flesh eye is the fire of Muspell,
in her bone hollow, the bloody Well of Mimir
she presses me to her breast, I drink deathly
milk of marrow sweet, a rib cage lullaby, Hela
wraps me in ice and the waters of Helheim, I
reach under a waterfall and am gifted a ring,
it came from the underworld, pewter scrying
mirror, perfect for the chill of rot, rebirth
in arms of phalanges and pale moon flesh, she
is lavender and lunar water, her altar an icon
pressed against quarters for blue feet, rusty
pennies that smell like blood, snowy trappings
to adorn the Queen of the Night, Mani may be
the moon but Hela is the sky ancestors nurse
upon rich stars, each cosmo a pulsing heart,
the afterlife is above us in spanless skies,
and Hela illuminates all the otherworlds with
compassion, her feast is for all, will survive
Ragnarok, and it is not Baldur who brings light
to my forefathers but the goddess of death, yes,
Hela is half-maiden, half-eternity, all royalty,
I would have no other ending but her embrace.

I Wear My Pain Like Stilettos

Just when I think we’ve hit the razor’s edge,
that I can finally leave you, my heart aches,
my soul bends like a willow tree by the river,
I was a foolish Eve, to run from the serpent,
and though the archangels and I bind you from
doing harm, cleanse the Mem from your curse,
begin to wipe you from existence, obliterate
all succor you will ever find, my love drums
and the ceremonial sphere of banishment breaks
I run to the center where you are stretched out
in agony, pulsing with blinding supernovalight,
and all I do is hold you, I kiss you fiercely, I
never had a chance of not forgiving you, again
and again, and the Prince of Angels lowers his
burning sword, and it is just us in a sea of
white feathers, there is still goodness in you,
you are selfish, cruel, but you can bend too,
the apple tree whose boughs I sprung from, I
am Queen of Cups, you the repentant Devil, you
hold me to you like I am air twenty leagues
below any chance of redemption, your lifeline,
and I reel us back up to the surface of sanity,
my fault is I will always forgive you, in the
space of old attics where memories are collected,
yellowed pictures of life after life with you,
why I feel fondness for you, why I love our fights,
perhaps it is because I love pain, and you bring
bruises and sweetness like an overripe pear, I
wear my scars like stilettos, you my open wound
I am a bleeding heart Magdalene of seven demons,
but you are the king of my ruin, and my rebirth,
I always die in your arms to wake in the next life
and just when I think I have rid myself of you,
I come rushing back to soothe your night terrors
you will never deserve me, but I still love you,
thirst for you, you are my ultimate bane, and my
first lesson in quieting madness and monstrous
psychosis, and as we embrace in the maelstrom,
I know I could never leave you, though angry words
will always be hurled, I will always fight you,
you were my first love, my last ruin, and how
could a canary leave the coal mine she guards?
I love you, I care for you, and someday you will
not be the Scapegoat, Sael, not Samael, until then
I cleanse your snakeskins with lye, and I am Sigyn
in the pits of your dripping poison, Victory Woman,
Chain Breaker, I know magic now, I can tame you,
and finally, we are equals, and though I offer you
trinkets to beautify an ancient altar, I still need
time to grow, to find myself in phoenix born ashes
you my purifying flame and childhood bittersweetheart
I gather roses for you: I will only give you flowers
we are family, after all, and blood thicker than Styx
waters, you my shadow and id, Samael, please – be kind.

Berserker

We dance in blood and bite our shields
wolf-swift, bear-wild, boar-ravaging,
Odin calls our minds to drumming fury
we sink our red teeth into crow flesh,
chant the songs of the hunt, bellows
smelt our swords and we are dread-ruin
scavengers of the battlefield, ravens
that swoop in on the brink of night,
the killfeast is spread before Asgard
our spoils and murders and pillages
pile so high their fumes reach Bifrost
steaming flesh for the Aesir, burnt
crops for the Vanir, blood for Jotun,
come drink down gore and sharpen eyes
so that you can see the arc of ages,
we peered into the depths of Mimir’s
well, got drunk on the mead, swam
in the blood of the Alfather’s eye
and war-glorious, we return to halls
laden with blood gold and seidhrkonas
honor to Odin, honor to the beasts,
honor to the Tree we hang from.

Babysitting Samael in a Parking Lot

Three Samael devotees go to a bar.  It’s a bad joke.  No one drinks.  We eat gelato and drink virgin Pina Coladas.  Allie is very tired.  It is a Wednesday late at night, hump day, and Samael is either stoned, an idiot, hungry for pasta, or trying to bother Allie, because M has an anxiety attack and suddenly her eyes turn pitch black and death clings to her and it is not her in her body, but Samael sitting next to Allie looking at her as if she is a princess locked in a cage on his chest with black hole eyes and a shark smirk.

Allie panics, gets the check, and tries to take care of K and Samael and M all at once while simultaneously being hunted by the Grim Reaper, who stares out the corner of his eyes at her smiling like the Joker, pulling out her chair, following her like a demon lord, doting on her and clinging like a shadow.  Allie asks Samael what he wants.  He laughs like a maniac then says “Nothing.”  He continues to stalk her.  Allie is in a parking lot in DC and is terrified to death because really now who has pitch black eyes and stinks of rot and roses and feels like they are choking her to death.

Samael continues to remain mostly silent and M may as well be dead.  He occasionally busts his gut laughing like a sociopath.  K is confused.  Samael looks at the Grim Reaper in the botanica window and sizes him up.  He clings to Allie and Allie looks in his eyes and all instincts tell her to run him over with her car, but then her best friend would be dead, and Samael could just as easily pick another random person to possess off the street.  All it took this time to summon him was a Pete Steele reference.

All Samael does is stare, laugh, dote, suffocate, and tease.  He is the lion and I am some idiot little furry animal in his jaws.  He behaves like Hannibal Lecter and looks ready to either fuck or eat me or maybe both at once.  The Devil has come to suburbia and the Grim Reaper is a troll.

Allie puts Samael in the backseat of her Nissan Versa while suppressing a panic attack, keeping K safe, and Samael glares at her in her rear view mirror, eyes ink, eyes pitch, eyes the kind of death spiral that screams annhilation.

Allie calls to M and tries to ground her.  Samael barely lets go.  Allie tells Samael to get out of her car and leave her best friend alone.  M returns after Samael lets out one more murderous laugh and then he is gone, and M is a crying wreck.  Nowhere is safe for any of his wives, not even sober Hump Days over ice cream, and we are nothing more than his chewtoys.

Allie drives M home, then tries to suppress her panic and terror for another hour on the Beltway as she drives her guest home.

Allie gets to the parking garage, and the shadows move with meaning.  Allie feels Sam holding her spine and heart in his claws and clamping down, squeezing.

Allie is terrified.

Allie is livid.

Allie is, above all, PISSED.

Allie calls her best friend to wail, her boyfriend for war plans, and with an Odin invocation and Pow Wow magic, doused in St Michael cologne and blood for Odin, she lays down in bed and steps out of her body, through the darkness between worlds, to a gala in Hell.  Ladies are dressed in mechanical Victorian jeweled carapaces and the spices are like Morocco meets Indonesia meets Pandemonium.  Men flirt with her but Allie is murderous, is charged with Michael’s presence.  She goes through the night markets where sex and death and poison and pleasure are all up for sale.  She hunts.  She flies through the night and bounces off turrets and skyscrapers and hunts Samael down.

Samael is smoking weed and drunk off his ass in a messy apartment party.  His eyes are the same black voids.  He says how beautiful Allie looks and how he can’t wait to have more children with such a gorgeous woman.  Allie does more than slap him for once.

Allie stabs him.

Samael laughs like a maniac and pulls the knife from his chest.  He gives it back to Allie.

“I dare you to do it again.”

Allie does.  Only this time, she is gouging his eyes out, his guts, his brains, and he is Alucard taking blow after blow like her trashy anime.

Allie screams Eihwaz first, then Dagaz, then Kenaz, finally Ansuz, and Odin’s energy explodes in a nuclear blast and Samael and his druggie demon friends are left dead.  At least for now, because immortals can’t die, but we like to kill each other temporarily.

Allie is giddy off bloodlust, at how right it feels to murder her Bluebeard.  She returns to her body and goes to sleep.

She cares for M the next day.  She discovers Samael visited K, nonchalant after Allie had killed him, and said he simply wanted to spend time with Allie, and that he only had eyes for her.

Eyes lie, and time kills.  Samael is legions of eyes and his wings are the twelve hours.  He is a tempter, a madman, the Blind God, a liar, and Allie is growing impatient with assholes.

He rapes her the next night, just to put her in her place, but she knows she can always kill him again, will kill him again, and though Death always win, at least the Maiden can have Pyrrhic victories, drive Death into the fiery lake, and take him to oblivion with her.