We’ve got a black underworld rising here,
and it will follow the moon and her shroud of the night,
while we fill your soul as the sky darkens.

Power feels good when it takes over, it makes you shiver and moan…

It’s so much better than sex,
just like the hunt,
the bite,
until it falls still,
and you’re left shivering in the dark
with all the deadly pleasure nerves can give you.

It’s like seeing the world in twenty-four dimensions.

It’s like hearing your lover whimper your name
with their flesh pressed against yours.

Or hearing them scream.
In pain or pleasure, it doesn’t matter, it’s animal.

It’s like knowing you’re the one and only,
the last one there,
and you can rule the world,
if you just ask for it.

It’s a simple thing to get and a simple thing to have,
but when it destroys you,
it’s so hard to get rid of.

You can fight it and it’ll always be there in the morning,
the pounding headache
and the deep seated self-hatred,
and the body lying beside you, shuddering with heartbroken sobs.

You learn not to remember their names.

You eventually stop counting.

And then,




Old Poem


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