Thursday, November 24, 2011

“All those born with wings.”


It is time. Tonight.
That the wind blows like a gale, like a curse, like a threnody.
It is time.
For me to spread my wings. Ebony black, darker than the heart of darkness.
To take flight.
To roam the skies between the blind screams of the elements.
I shall land on those rooftops that despair has proclaimed her own, and her ragged flag, invisible to all eyes but my own, is dancing to each hellish gust.
I shall enter from locked windows and darkened mirrors, unseen and unheard. I shall answer your prayers. Tonight.
Feed on you.
Feed on your hearts.
Feed on the reek of your sins.
Feed.
Tonight.
Till all that is left will be something so mutilated, so torn, that won’t pass for human remains.
Till your true nature is revealed. Rotting sacks of meat. Nothing that could be called a soul residing in you.
There.
Do you see me on the floor, wiping my mouth?
Between the dark blood, and entrails, and the broken bones sticking out from torn limbs?
Do you see my knowing smile?
Do you know my name?
No?

It is time.
To enter in places where there is no hope.
To touch the brows of those dying alone.
To kiss the cheeks of children crying even in their sleep.
I’ll wipe the blood from my lips before kissing them goodnight. I shall leave no trace.
And if I cannot save them anymore I‘ll steal them from you.
I’ll whisper in their ear.
Suicide. What a tragedy.
Surely not as bad as the so-called life they had.
And my sister, the shepherd of the lost, will pick their souls from the crossroads, and embrace them like you never did.

I’ll mix poisons in boiling cauldrons and feed them to you secretly.
I’ll feed you when you think yourselves invincible. The purest milk from my breasts.
The source of feelings becoming the source of death.
Vagina transformed into a grave.
You will pay.
By the blood from your veins you will pay.
For the blood of your children that you shed with such ease you will pay.
No-one can stop me.
No-one can make me spare you.
Tonight that the wind knows no rest, I come on wings as black as the negative of matter.
Bare like the moon.
Black like my Sun.
Because you called me back.
You raised me from the river of Lethe and named me.
You gave me my wings.
You armed my hand.
You sharpened my sword with your outrageous crimes.
No land will hide you.
No god will save you.
You are mine.

“And her name was like a blackbird, like a night bird crying out in the most desolate of all deserts; the human heart.”

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

ありがとう。