From Van Gogh’s mutilated ear

Between mountains and oceans, i’m a deciduous thing. 

i, an archaic aristocrat, holding my freeze dried bouquet in the middle of a superfluid world.

i'm tired of concocting up muses that do not exist; tired of begging to the mortal gods; tired of paying for my soul in blood….

between heaven and horror, i’m a flawed oblation.

the valour of stars — ain't me, not i.

the virtue of rivers — ain't me, not i.

the vigour of death — ain't me, not i.

the moon has seen me cry, but it never tells anyone of the madness that gnaws at my skull. like an aimless hawk eyeing endless hunger, i lay awake by my father's grave. i bought silence for funeral, savouring cruelty at wake. 

between lust and agony, i’m a starved parasite.

mercy is a two edged sword that i, a creature of desolation, long for. but there's nothing to be done where nights swallow a thousand suns. 

the violence is me, is mine, is i.

the vengeance is me, is mine, is i.

the voracity is me, is mine, is i.

between muse and betrayal, i'm a forlorn desire.