The bed, a crime scene of sorts a passion spilled in sweat
he comes to me in the night. Willingly i go – to my death:
he comes to me in the night. A sword sharpened by lust and
thrusts it into my soul. mother, I’m ready to come home but
the line between pain & pleasure is small compared to the
pleasant death (ORGASAMS); the coroner will say an untimely
passing but my murderous lover knew the timing each plunge
of his knife ever deeper (the hounds of winter).
The best way to slice off entrails — I’m at home like home
on the floor covered with wine and gizzards then I’ll slit
my wrists (the hounds of winters!) it was an accident
I just wanted to see my bruises replaced with this new thing
the slit wasn’t to deep
A season for Joy a Season for Sorrow! So brighten my day
within the winter of Hounds today.
A lonesome sound a lonesome sound this day.
:: maj rev – 10.03. 2020 ::