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  • A-cide//a-cide


    Lucifer the Black and White Angel ()
    WInged with cimmerian flames, blest,
    How now that you've just produced
    This one tolerable ash; one ash left.

    Lucifer, the black the white, handed
    Flaming torch that is the night's own,
    Blest twice, to be given what you have.
    Winged with your sceptre, begin. Now,

    After you watch from my pointed perch,
    Of claws, there are none sharper, as yours
    Pierce the armor with just a single lazer:
    The plaint of my cries burnt, singed, sunless.

    And by your own redress, Lucifer,
    Thou who would by willing just know
    You were better than them all; what, pre tell,
    Is your name next to the Great Saint

    And Prince of Peace Archangel Micahel?--
    Rose in flames he sits, such an angel, blest
    Thrice begotten and suffering not less;
    His Faith recalls as well as reminds, Yes

    I am closest to G-d because. The soul triangle
    Destroys its edges and turns inwards,
    Collapses through its own justice, and falls
    To the bodies of the children, boys and girls.

    Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, there is one ending
    Yet begins another's loss. And all the Negatives.
    Half-way tottering, she comes, a dance itself,
    Knowing what she is and falling down to Sheol.

    Little one in love, how not seen you have become,
    Now that your pirate-ship has its mast, pointed,
    And your own waves are your own waves again.
    I am the one Lucifera. I have come to Pass.

    I arrange myself from ash, and break against glass
    A past which through my lips is spelled,
    While the swirling world is starting to melt;--
    Witch I am, danced by the pyre. Lover I am

    The Eldest Vampire. By what streets can I reach
    This cobbled path on the horses' hooves, clack.
    By what bone or symbol am I broken now, Chosen?
    As your love's delight and that you're the Only.


    Some say that all of them have come back,
    A fire reminding us of their sacrifice, heels clicking,
    Brooms extended and slathered, aimed at the moon.
    Shot through like some effigy, they flow over

    And hems of blackness start to gather
    The wind that beneath them will conspire
    As trees that leave their leaves have fire
    They will conspire. And by their movement burn

    Backward from the ashes there, crawling over
    Half of what their graves might mean; slithering
    Like tongues upon the Azrael's wing. Gossipin'.
    Thou dark and forsaken being, dewinged, downed.


    Out of the skies. Out of the woods. Out of Me.
    The strength of the little beaver, his teeth
    To trees and in his little hut I hide. I hide. I hide.
    These things from which I've found None,

    Nor apostasy nor any predilection for an out.
    You've left me cold, too cold to care.
    I've lost my will to care about my life, for what?
    For light that falsely could be--not--IS contrived.

    And to lie as a witch burner rather than Witch.
    A WICCAN. That's what this is. Another Wish.
    Another reason for my infinite consciousness

    Sybaritic heaven forthrightly brought, arisen.
    Last edited by BluerThanEver; 04-22-2021, 07:41 AM.