Satan’s Blood (Demons of The Night XII)

Soft, sleek, black, silky strands of hair

Falling down his forehead

Covering his neck line

Contemplating his clear, fair skin

Wide almond eyes, black as night

Long lashes, thick

Lining their outline in precision

Glistening under the pale lights

Small nose, 

Rosy lips

A face carved in perfection

Most beautiful

A curse swarming beneath his skin

Dark poison 

Black ink streaming in his veins

Drawing vicious hollowness 

“You’re born to breed, 

My line should proceed, 

My blood should be cleansed, 

A ritual you can’t evade”

The poison spread

Bad blood,

Calling for new blood, new life

A new flesh, an infestation

His heartbeats raced with mine

Empathy more than love

Love stronger than empathy

An inhuman attraction; bestiality 

Our eyes locked on each other

We’re seeing through one other

Our hearts slamming against their cages vigorously

As our bodies clasped so tight

THE RITUAL SHALL NOW BEGIN

I lost myself to his misery

He lost himself in my purity

More passionately than poisonously

More poisonously than cursed

More cursed than blindingly dark

Darker than any force that would tear us apart

It’s warmer than any of us has ever felt

All the coldness seeping out of our bones

The ice that has racked our souls

Slowly melting in disclosure

More passionately than poisonously

More tenderly than stiffly

More yearningly than lustfully

More intimately than forcibly

The storm we wreaked is now going dormant

We reached deep depths beyond getting lost

More lost than we can ever be saved

More saved that we can never be lost

A new child is born

The circle will be going on

We broke the lurking evil

Only to have it reforged

The guilt will be inscribed in our every breath 

As much as this moment can’t reced in memory

A bond is moulded, love is founded

Only to be diminished with a new enchantment

A new ritual will be called upon

New innocent life, gone

Blood for blood and life for life 

A Satan will always rise

Waking Up the Dead

It all came back to me, crushing me with exasperating nostalgia. If it was the right thing to do, it surely doesn’t feel like it. Apparently I wanted to do that; I wanted to do it for so long that now I can’t even remember why I wanted to do it. It hurts so much. He was once a friend; a great friend even with all the drama, the nagging, and all the things that I hated about him. He was also my fix, my own OD, and I was addicted to his substance abuse. It went so bad in the past, me being so nagging, he being so broken and overwhelmed, me falling in love with his friend and nearly getting engaged to him. It was flooding us all; we were drowning under our incomprehension of our own desires and needs. The consummation was eating at us, slowly, happily, and quietly that we didn’t even realize it until it was too late. It was too late that all of our bonds were broken, all of our bridges burned down. I was on one side of the mountain, while they were on the other side of the valley, so far apart that we couldn't even see one another, feel one another, or understand what we were going through. Such desperate separation acted like a poison burning through the veins of our relationship. It was dying and failing rapidly and horribly. The antidote was unknown at the time, and remains unknown to this day. Trying to clear waters, after more than a year of torturing silence, feels like digging out the dead corpse of our lost relationship and trying to do CPR, even though CPR attempts have failed before calling out the time of death. It doesn’t even stop here. In desperation, I don’t stop at the CPR failure, I try to force life into the cold dead by all means possible that I am now creating Frankenstein’s monster. Now I am doing as Frankenstein did, he was so excited towards the results of his experiments that he has forgotten what the consequences might be, creating an overwhelming creature that is so lost in emotional turmoil and fragments of past lives of two or more people who are long dead and gone. Same inputs and givens, being examined through the same scope and used in the same way, give the same result. If it went any further than what it has gone already, if any further attempts were made to try firing life through our death, I will be creating the monster that Frankenstein was so scared of and the fire of this alleged spark of life will back fire at us all. It will devour all of what we had left of good memories, whether fading or vivid with colors and scents. Some relationships are better left dead, with no resolution or reconciliation. Don’t bring out the dead if it has already been gone for so long that now its life will be more disrupting and destructive than the beauty it had during its lifetime.