The sweaty bodies of men paint
hieroglyphs of her insanity.
Them that had penetrated her perforce
But never pierced her veil.
I watch her swirl like a dervish in heat.
I observe her floating gracelessly in alcohol placentas, all sepia, settled like a dust mote
in my eye.
If a woman is cut down in the forest of her dreams,
is she?
The sound of one heart shattering.
Mine, I guess.
All I want is to subsume her into my healing.
Absorb her darkness.
Lick her tears with a forked tongue, perhaps.
Or just hand her an apple.
The descent into hell begins.
Please fasten your seat belts
Over decrepit bones.
Direct your sockets
Heavenwards,
Not into your phones.
Fear not the demons,
The fiery cauldrons,
As you are already dead.
Dread only your fellow passengers
On the road ahead.
There is no return ticket
On this hellish ride.
Only the smoldering memories
Of your haunted pride.