The Wake

if revenge is a rite of passage i need you dead
just as i am dead inside you
the night bleeding like a wound
listen you don’t recognize me eyes wild as rice
bloody fingers shaped like claws at your delicate neck
our pulses thumping mutually to some ancient rhythm
my wounds are scarred tainted black and bubbly with infection
your wounds are healed with tender loving care and perfection
flawless mirrored version of me i am
ripping through precious arteries and veins
and meat and chewy fat just to get at you
damned heart pumping with wild abandon
ignore me will you and will i cease to be
the beginning of death for you is when i give you the knife
but my slow death inside this head has never meant anything
so i watch wait listen patiently to the sounds of steel on flesh
your blood an endless waterfall of shame from your wounds
if i never mingle with dark red satin will i never exist
will you ever release me and allow me to roam freely
or will i forever be a prisoner in my own mind
a long-forgotten facet of my personality complex
i want to feed on you to finally become you you are
saccharine lips edible like winter strawberries
dining on your outer beauty soaking up your insides
making precise movements with an aching tongue
up and down your alabaster skin excellent porcelain
white as mountain chrysanthemums placed on graves
watching fine cherry silk lay in pools on the carpet
beneath your feet and you thought i didn’t notice