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SANGUINE BREATHE OF THE MUSE

They slept on the abyss without a surge -
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expired before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Or aid from them - She was the Universe
Byron

Ethereal Heresies
Ah, welcome LoSt SOuLs to the darkest corners of Goth-Lara's dementia. These are all original thoughts(unless stated otherwise) originating from my dreams, nightmares, absinthe illusions, or slipping grasp on sanity. Some pictures may take a few minutes to load, but if you're actually reading the poetry, it won't be a problem. Taste a bit of my darkness. Vivant, j'aimerais mieux inviter les corbeaux a saigner tous les boutsde ma carcasse immonde.

LES AVEUGLES
I
Her pale ivory skin folded
brown and
wilted
to black
until I
smelled her
dying flesh
in the
October Wind.

II
The first eruptions hit my throat
and I
glanced away
consumed by
delirious
mouthfuls of
salvation

III
Across the skin the fire
was dancing
and the smoke
playing games
with her
perfume twisting
into the clouds.

REVELATION OF THE SIRE

Stranger,
these veins sought some unknown grave
desiring only worms and hatched larvae
to wallow through my remains
feasting on the dream I could
never realize,
when blood seeped
like diseased semen
down my cracked lips
salty and immortal.

Stranger,
slavery was unbearable
even as a mad Camus
kept preaching how great Sisyphus
must be to perceive
his broken days so hollow
so spiteful, when death
called so near,
close enough to breathe.

Stranger,
giver of eternal pain
hateful in your solitude,
can you look into my deathless eyes
and not weep? Until darkness
covers all leaving only the shadows
of what once was a soul
while the world sleeps
alone,
forever in sanguinary night.

CHICAGO WEEKEND

The green faeries let us into the parlor,
it was here they engaged
in all their excess,
and wine flowed into
stiletto stemmed
glasses,
while we laughed the night away.

We needed to find the hotel,
__________I needed a bed -
__________or at least a quiet corner,
so I could hide
form the worms or,
was it my friends?

Tears are never shed for sadness....

When Monday morning came
I smelled like gin,
no matter how many Certs
I chewed,
though none cared
too much,
work being what it is.

WHISPERS FROM THE DEAD

Alien hunger rises
with the diesel gray
of twilight,
shredding the rested spirit
unleashing burning desires
which must remain
unspoken.

Swallowing blood and semen
in endless shadowed
corners,
not understanding the silence,
sought so longingly new wine.

The night rose quickly
like prayers made in hopeless desperation
hiding,
he who watches
within the folds of darkness unholy,
then I waited,
on the stone darkened with blood
for death's whisper
chilled by the cold kiss
of hard lips pressed to my cheek

"a cemetery is the most erotic stage"

brilliant warming pain somewhere
below my waist
and the spreading wetness
was my only
indication of life

"let's fuck here tonight
death enhanced by moonlight."

Email: invisagoth@hotmail.com