The Bride Even the Devil Divorced


There is nothing sexy about your rage—
The infernal vengeance
You would reap upon those who have wronged you,
Borne you into this world,
Or stood in your presence
Instead of kneeling before your majesty;
So excuse me if I recuse myself
From your infallible presence
Or shiver when your skin meets mine.
I do not require your pardon
And do not crave your presence,
Radiating arrogance with each step,
Every flinch, every syllable spoken,
Causing me to retch my heart out
Whenever I have to inhale your noxious aura.
Your touch is like a snake bite,
The venom entering my bloodstream like a virus
And working its way to my heart;
Even worse when you try to fuck me—
The moments where I’d sooner die,
Except I would die in your arms,
And that is a fate worse than hell.


Cyanide Demons


There is nothing more akin to hell on Earth
Than watching the mutations of friends,
Into fiends horrific and despondent,
And knowing you possess no power,
No jurisdiction
Over their descent into disparity.
You can only lay your eyes on them
And their radiance
As it is snuffed out,
Blotted by an ugliness unfathomable,
Inciting self-destruction, self-denial,
And acceptance of everything corrupted.
This is not what you committed yourself to,
Pledged your loyalty to,
Sacrificed your soul to;
No, your immolation was meant to nourish them,
Watch them grow into angels greater than God,
Not for them to distort into cyanide demons
Who infect everyone in their presence
And vindicate themselves with prevarication and sin.
You’re helpless, heartbroken,
As this spectacle plays out before you,
And you’re unable to remove yourself,
For the infinitesimal chance they could be saved
And ascend once more.

The Fury of Hell, as Nothing

Light in hell

We are in hell,
Living through every moment
Of searing pain,
Seeking a second’s reprieve
From the smoke that fills our lungs:
A reminder of the abandonment
And broken promises we were fed.
That makes us demons,
Baring every flaw to one another
As we drift through this realm of repudiation
And self-doubt.
God has already forsaken us,
So we find solace in each other’s embrace
Realizing that, among the flames,
The torture,
The despair that comprises our existence,
We are not slaves to any fate;
A moment of error does not strip
Our ability to be more,
To find the beauty
Even in a smoldering lakebed;
And even as demons,
Damned by one who deems us ugly
And not worth a sliver of grace,
We have found one another.
So I have no regrets for these mistakes
That damned me to this inferno,
Because in your embrace,
Living in hell
Is worth every second.


Female dark angel

I am hatred incarnate.

Blood-soaked sins of my past
Plaster red this acrylic painting
Of vivacious colors matching
What I saw in those vibrant eyes.

No scent,
No glimpse,
No memory
Can every deliquesce from my perception.

This, like the paraplegic’s legs
Or the seeress’s vision of war,
Is my unholy curse, wrought by imprudence:
Negligence toward my better judgment
And a rapacious desire to elevate from my caste.

It is a railroad of mistakes that have left me jaded—
Barreling down on a locomotive,
Only to realize the tracks have been laid
And I revolve in an infernal circle
Around the crux.

Around you.

And though I abhor the path I am on,
I cannot step off, lest I face the truth:
My soul yearns, not for forgiveness
But to forgive.

To yield is to pardon you,
To proffer up what you never had the heart to request
Because, in truth, you do not need it;
You do not require my absolution to subsist
Or carry on an empyreal life,

And despite my laments, the hatred I have assumed,
I have not the heart to forgive;
And so I do not fear death,
For I am already in hell.