Feel no pity.
Mistress of my misery.
I’m full of consequences.
Since she didn’t dance for me
when I played my song of rage.
Fed ripples of memories.
Turning dreams into dooms.
Frightened of my own hand.
And the cage, it’s closed.
Frightened of the fire.
Damned to smoke ice.
Beckoning a Shepard in my sheets,
with the tears soaked in the pillows.
Like the widows visit to graves.
Pain seems to grave.
For the weak, for the meek, for the sheep.
Enemy’s whispers absorbed in thoughts.
But all I see are the actions of my defense, my pretense.
My offering suffercated in suffering.
So I toast.
Numb stay away.
From the high.
From the fall.
Humbling streets of abandonment
dwell with me.
Consumed by the fury of my cross.
I thought I loved.
Such sex, entering the course of soul.
Entering covenants and demons lares.
Just to kiss Jezebel’s breasts.
So sweet to my lips.
I know what’s next.
Baths of humps
and perfume,
and bedding,
and showers,
in the naked hours, beyond the ache
to bare righteousness.
Though fake, my mistakes aroused new wakes.
Each wake opened a new desire.
Forming the desire, a death and resurrection.
And my essence is spent.
Within a self, separated from self.
Birthed from darkness and stress.
As she screamed and I made her bleed the
first fruits of eternity.
We assimilated life’s embrace of death.
And since pain is my origin.
Karma evidently pursues with pain from all my
births, all my words, all my depth.
Me, returning to earth and she embracing me.
She erasing me, she betraying me.
And her hate.
Spawns within these wakes unto her daughters.
And whores, I’ve tested and tasted to love.
Feel what I’ve felt.
No pity.
Mistress of my Misery