He sleeps, you know? She does not.
She, instead, watches over him - that valkyrie from the christian hell.
Oh, the horror of mixed religons, blasphemy calling blasphemy on itself.
she hates him, you can see it in the acrid taste of the honey smile.
She cannot get enough of him.
The evil seductress hangs on every nonsensical word from his invisible lips.
Am I too obvious? I am sorry, I'll try to be more mysterious for you.
Yes, anything for the hungry reader -
poets like whores, writers selling not their unwashed bodies,
but the rotting souls within.
Can I ever buy it back?
Oh, so high a price.
Please hate me, please?
Hate me and release me from this damned cage of hopes and filthy dreams!
Still, as a lay my head on my hand and scream silent lamentations to the sky,
all I can think of is that sky, imposter friend of mine, has tried to mimic your eyes, to no avail. How could something so empty ever replicate your horrible, beautiful depth?
Oh, I have said too much, I have said nothing!
Too bad I can say no more . . . drowning . . .in your depth . . . so deep you cannot see my rotting corpse.