the guts proliferated, straining my stomach to entwine with my demon
lucifer ate the syrup of blood and sausage, digesting my dreams, and i
stewed below him, full of regret and the impending years.
we were siamese twins (i'm growing more wicked, becoming his cancer)
and the fire of my twenties is fading to aching joints and lust for voids
that could cradle my soft places, and melt my hard hardedness
but the years span on, a vacant wash, like the gaping maw between my legs.
i birthed a billion frogs, they clamored from my pelvis like rain, i plague mother
i dreamed christ returned in drowning blood seas, and dead bones became flesh
it's so strange, nubs of prophecy, like moses erased the narrative - i've only got scraps
dog scraps, to feed a kennel of wolves, and i'm eating lice as i freeze to nothing
wasting in this empty tea saucer, the devil has drunk it all down, and i'm bits of sugar
on satan's
lip
a sweet
and terrible
thing.