“To poison the sting, from time to time, it’s the acme of art.”
Necromancer
Decayed and abandoned houses always fascinated me and I was never sure why, but I felt like... in some twisted way I belonged to them, as if all of these haunting, marginal and chaotic places were just a reflection of whom I was inside
-- something in ruins
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when He created you lying in bed
He knew what He was doing
He was drunk and He was high
and He created the mountains and the sea and fire at the same time
He made some mistakes
but when He created you lying in bed
He came all over His Blessed Universe.
― Charles Bukowski
Between love and death,
I dug deep into the ground, barehanded and soul bruised,
tried to bury all that had burdened me like a boulder upon the shoulders of Atlas.
I dirtied these hands of mine, besmirched their innocence, believing it was better to live by severing ties with the caustic guilt anchoring me to that dark place. Foolish of me not to anticipate the shadows of all my misdeeds following me around like a virulent hellhound, and leading me to you.
To do something so unnatural, to push the boundaries in the territory of taboo,
To attempt to rectify our sin and resurrect the departed echoes of our stained history,
I ask you,
Between love and death,
Will you kill me and heal me—in the same breath?
I love the nights, when streets fall quiet
When neon glow bathes
the passer-by
Your hand in mine, our eyes alight as
Words warble, music plays, and last-call looms.
Alleyway walls, stone cold against your back
Our kiss soft,
like falling snow
There is no one else here
but you and I
Only you
Only your eyes