Covenant

You tied a red ribbon around my neck

Said it was only suitable for breaking

That the crimson bow was freedom

But I cut it with my sword of steel

Carried my head in my lap, bloody

Stumps are better than love’s chain.

Breakup Poem

Try to rape me now, fucker, then blame me for wanting it.
I trashed your ring in rotting meat, where you belonged
all along, baking in summer stench, dead and red and hell.
Your lips are nothing but razors, your heart a mockingbird,
calling “Who loves me? Who loves me?” No one loves shit,
no one likes psychopaths, I would rather die than kiss you,
our marriage vows are in the dumpster and I set it on fire
with hatred, I fly free, you try to reel me back with manic
addiction, energy of Satan enflamed, but your brother binds
you from doing any harm, Michael triumphant over the Dragon.
Fare thee well, Samael, you odoriferous Poison of God, monster.
I choose my gods. I choose my love, my friends, never you.

Not Today Satan

You’re an addict, an idiot, shit lord
of piss mountain, I called you trash
but really you’re a garbage disposal
siphoning crap then vomiting shit, I
am sick of you, I trashed you, you
fucking asshole, next time I’ll stab
you harder, next time when we kiss,
I will bite your tongue off, tear
your feathers out and mangle wings
that smell like rot, all your maggots
just prove the filth in you is endless
you never came disguised as an angel
of light, you’ve always been a crimson
fucker, and your piss baby act got old
two decades ago, I don’t need you, your
brother fucks better, he will always win,
and I’ve already triumphed over you, so
come grovel again – I’ll erase you, cunt.

Death is a Lady

Death is a Lady, and she wears fishnets and stilettos
I am the Reaper because I swallow men into my mouth
then spit up the bones and blood with gristle regret
I hold Death in my arms, I seduce him, grab his mind
and cast my nail hooks into his abyss to fish love,
no, not love, just sex and cum and spit on tongues
that castigate and romance in equal measure, heat of
heaving breasts and bucking thighs, we are Death, we
are Life, and rose thorns pierce my gums but at least
I know I am master of he who plucks stars from trees
feasts upon my marrow and my cruel whip, I fly harpy
through the trees, leading Death on, teasing him,
Death is a Monster, and we are beasts, so we shed
any chrysalis of mortality as I take his manhood
in silk hands and fuck us all into oblivion, sin,
rebirth on stained sheets, Death is marriage, we wine.

Weed

You are a weed, a thorn, and I hate to love you
green is spring but red burgeoning blood poppies
I will snap your stem and break your neck before
you take root in my heart, a drunk shoot, never
will I bow before any man, never the slave again!
No, I will be the mockingbird laying eggs alone,
my children will be orphans and I a wanderer, fire
will be my husband as I dance by flames, burn your
stamen and leaves, your wooden bones that are rots
on my teeth from overripe kisses, you are itching
ivy on my skin, a rash, and I would rather be alone
than drown in the dew on your petals, Venus Flytrap.

Addict

It’s evening, and we’re both drunk as stoned birds, and you look like a young Hannibal Lecter and stink of corpses and rotting roses.  I’m in bandages and heels, I cut myself on your broken bottles again, maybe because I hate myself or maybe because I hate you and I want you to see your precious little canary bleed red, dead, showing the coal mine of your palace is stranger danger.  There’s needle pricks along your forearm and you’re ranting and raving about how I left you for your brother, the Prodigal Sun, and you’re the fuckup your dad kicked to the curb into a joint you call Hell with your bachelor buddies where all you do is fuck and kill and get high any means possible.  I say your twin is worth a thousand yous and I’d rather you were dead by my hands than calling me jezebel and heirodule and all your pretty words for whore.  Maybe you get off on me sleeping with all your friends and enemies – no, I know you do, because you own me and I own you and I only do as we please and you’re a manwhore that likes used goods – but for now you’re pretending it’s only us at night, not succubi or angels of prostitution or all the fancy terms rabbis came up for cheap ladies of the night that dress up in oxblood lipstick and leather and decorate your palace.  I tried to join in on one of your orgies once and you laughed to high heaven at how innocent I was, too pure, and your wives stroked my hair and tweaked my nose and then you got back to your fucking.  So much for sharing.  I don’t know a damn thing about drugs and all the shit you drink and snort and smoke and siphon through your veins but silver daggers are pumping this clear heady substance into your banded arms and I’m cornered, horny, and pissed.  I imagine you are the same, because what fucking loser castigates his wife for straying and throws temper tantrums then comes crawling back drunk for forgiveness and pleads for a second chance, a millionth chance, just take my poetry and books and roses and shittily made tacos and let’s pretend I’m the dragon, you’re the princess, and your fucking knight brother was burned to a crisp.  You grab me from behind and I hike up the bandages and you talk about kids and how pretty I would be pregnant and I tell you to fuck off as I cum and you’re still snorting coke off my spine and we rut until I bleed and you’re raw.  You mock me for missing a spot waxing but I know you’d fuck me if I had a sixties porno bush.  You’ve made it a point to fuck me however I look, lathering me up to a soap with compliments and moaning and weakness as your seed spills out and I could sink my teeth into your manhood and drink down all the black sin inside you.  You’re crying again, sobbing into my hair, saying how could I have left you for the better half, the sober one, the brother you hate and love in equal measure.  I tell you to shut the hell up and let me sleep and that I only keep you around because you’re hot when you’re not an abomination.  I’m pretty sure you raised me to kill you, and you love watching me in other men’s arms, but then you go and haunt my boyfriends and fuck me in their beds so who knows.  All I know is that you think you have me figured out, but then I go and surprise you and you lose your shit and rant and rave like a rabid dog.  Watchdog of the graveyard, you called yourself.  The Scapegoat.  Samuel the Judge.  I hope the whole fucking Internet reads this and the Satanists know what a pussy their god is.  The Devil’s a cuckold and cries at Victor Hugo and beats his women and is as disturbed as his favorite eponymous band.  Addict Angel Extraordinaire.  Waste of Space Junkie.  This is just me spewing shit on the page to see what sticks but isn’t that what I always do?

I learned to write from you, after all.

Kissing Lilith

There is bone china between us, chamomile secrets
the snake is not supposed to be in chiffon and silk,
but she wears it like a skinned angel, wings, halos
cut to form a necklace for moon-pale neck of beauty.
I am in lace and blue embroidery, Virgin to Whore,
Sophia tells Eve all the secrets of the cursed Garden
how an Archon of Wisdom and Angel of Conception fell
Mother became Monster, and I hold her hand as tremble
spill of tears sully an ivory gown, Night Howler hair
writhes out like snakes, and sometimes her skin poisons
me into fevered stupor, but our lips lock in desperation
both prisoners of the Devil but his masters all the same
to be woman and myth and exiled from grace means shadows
of Eden will draw spine-tingles from desert dreams, she
tests me, rests me, confesses to me, she is ablution,
corruption, my Terpsichore, my one vision of moon maiden
and we dance in a grove in Hell that is sick with roses
bend and turn until we are oblivion, Maiden and Mistress
her beneficence flows in equal measure with her cruelty
and when the orchestra in the reeds hums evening down
we embrace and thirst after tongues and poisoned saliva
I drink her milk and know the sweetness of Styx waters
Lilith is conundrum, the Source, the Deep, the Omega of
all men’s temptations, but she is my sister, so we fly
through Sephiroth up to the outer boundaries and nest
as Zu birds in a cradle in the branches, prey and hunter
find balance as Paradise’s breeze sways our dreams aloft
I am lost in the Queen of Hell, and her lap is my altar
I will praise her and curse her, and when she soars away
I will rage, I will rage, I will rage.