Forbidden flavors I was banned from tasting.

Warmth I was scolded for embracing.

A radiant fire gleaming as I fell

for an insecure god’s manipulative spell.

Blood boiling once I learned of dignity

while taught to drain it for undeserved pity.

Confidence became a mix of flavor,

sweet when pious, sour to the savior

who wanted to save me from myself,

condemning autonomy as an agent of Hell.

It’s a pit or a grave.
Whichever, I tend to stay
when the sorcery of love dances
on my corpse day by day.

But something died
and love isn’t necromancy.
Eleven ounces of flesh
rotting, barely breathing.

Many tried to revive her.
I welcome them to the grave
of a lost cause, damaged goods,
a bleak, paradoxical save.

Faint beats of my flesh
responding to a loving touch,
but a kind of suicide captures her
because she’s never enough.

“Would you fucking try?” I ask,
“Would you bleed so I can breathe again?”
She’ll bleed herself dry, drown my eyes,
to assert her choice for death.

She wants to die with the lost love,
though it’s not so lost on cosmic paths.
Stars confirm love’s sweet blisses,
its harshness, its beauty, its wraths.

I plead for more beats; she rots,
resenting me six feet under
because I drank poisoned beliefs
of shallow loves, faux thunder,

an alluring ether seeking prey,
necrophiliacs raping my weak-beating flesh.
Perhaps I’m the abuser, the poison shame,
for demanding her strength in weakness.

Am I the sickness? Am I the rot?
Yes, I’m deepening the grave,
barely trying to leave, not taking her with me
though she whispers, “I don’t want to stay.”

But we stay. We rot. We bleed.
We concede. We cycle. We mourn.
At a loss for a remedy, though considering necromancy,
I’m unsure, dear heart, you’ll ever be reborn.

How have I done this to you?
How have I done this to myself?
Love was once our native currency.
Now I’m convinced she poisons our wealth.

Reoccurring, this poison, this dread,
this seemingly infinite sorrow.
It won’t kill itself or let us die.
It bleeds us–I bleed us–every ‘morrow.

How, how did I get here?
This damning, infinite fear.
Why won’t you leave me,
you mirror so clear?

The rot won’t leave my reflection.

A thousand tendrils twisting
deep, deep inside me.
Rising through my chest cavity
so I believe I’ve lost all sanity.
Aching, wanting to weep
over this instinct so deep.
Avoiding numbness to the lies
by trusting my mind’s eye.
Deep, deep inside me,
the bellowing monster, calling, calling.

A thousand teeth chattering
deep, deep inside me.
Fluent in blasphemy, self-decay,
a master at sending my bravery away.
Hopeless, wanting to soar
rather than dive into the ocean floor.
How dare I try to flee from drowning
when the monster within is also surrounding.
Deep, deep inside me,
the endless monster, hunting, hunting.

A thousand whispers dancing
deep, deep inside me.
Tearing my logic apart from me.
Hoping I’ll believe its reality.
Listening, but wanting to dream
just to recall my dreams losing meaning.
Hope waltzes with the whispers,
destiny becomes a fleeting shiver.
Deep, deep inside me.
The prancing monster, eating, eating.

Deep, deep inside me.
I must believe I’m killing it slowly.

Thank you for listening.

AbeBooks Weird Book Room

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Believe it or not, I got this idea while doing a meditation today. I want to start uploading my own poetry of the gothic/horror genre onto my Youtube channel (It’s dead right now, but you can still subscribe lol). I’ve been trying to find other goth/horror blogs, channels, and tumblrs to just get a feel for what the community is like. Though I’m goth myself, I think I’ve always been just a little shy. I’m ready to get out of my comfort zone a bit and post more content that isn’t as time consuming. Digital art takes time. Writing my novel is taking forever, of course. My music takes time as well. Poetry is one of the few things that naturally flows, is simply to edit, and it’s something I’ve wanted to share, I just…yeah. Sometimes anxiety wins. I actually wrote a poem about that and I will hopefully have it posted tomorrow. Stay tuned.

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Please chat with me and tell me who your favorite poets are? Or people who read poetry who are really fun to listen to. G.M. Danielson is pretty awesome. He doesn’t read just poetry though. Lots of horror short stories too.

Also, I have a music recommendation. Witchhouse is my new favorite genre.

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