The Victor, a lion resting in my chest,
waiting to breed, to breathe,
waiting to feast on meat.
Bloodborne antonyms, can’t spell no no mo,
I got my little empty trinkets,
early onset, trying to forget,
all the things I remember, from so long ago.
Yes, the platinum in my eyes has dulled,
the dew on the web of the spider,
I sip into a lull, foregone conclusions,
doing things wrong, catching spiritual contusions.
Lord forgive me, all I am is the thinking thoughtless, a human being.
Claws for teeth and bullets for fingers,
gingerly testing for taste,
letting the brew simmer.
This road is long and filled with potholes that break axles,
taxidermies for friends, leaving no doubt,
about who is really the asshole,
unassailable vassal of things other than nice,
break myself off a crucible and go around pretending I’m Christ.
Rats into mice,
huge vicious bubonic rats from cute little, white mice.
I know nothing except the truth of pain,
spare me or sacrifice me, lacerate me,
just make up your fucking mind,
and have at me.