The Consummation

If I live absolutely perfect, fascist, racist,
sexist, absolutely the nazi,
I can be absolutely alone, one man,
a creature of now who does not
perform wizardry on her head, use force,
anger, great coercion
to get what I want. Germinating into
a personal holocaust, making
her give all to the tyrant of emotion and
living death, living blood.

In the terrific wind from the sea,
the face of Satan faces me,
blinds me with the power of the beyond,
the black depth of undead.
I die but I do not die, I have become one
of the children of forever
night, and have no way back to the land
of light. Except sleep.

Sweetness from beyond the grave,
the ultimate spiral downward,
as wolves beyond the bastille howl
at me to not to relent, not to
perform tenderly for her. As she is the
one human in the canyon of
belief, who is willing to be reprehensible,
yet not even obvious.
She loves the night, and insight
is the moon, insight is the darkness.
Insight the inception of the unborn evil,
as she dances with me.

I make her believe without making,
it is so simple to draw her away from
the present. There is nothing here
to make to make her believe
my world and my universe
is not better. There is nothing here
that entices her. Except my desire,
my darkness shows that and she
accepts it. With the bonds in place,
I have only to make her mine.