Sucked into beautiful weaves of perversion,
With the tainted beauty of a raped virgin.
Like blood thirsty demons ready for war,
I am attacked from the inside.
Beg for the forgiveness of an unmerciful god,
Nothing can save me now.
Despite my prayers, I am surrounded,
By a thousand angels screaming in pain.
Hell hath no fury like Jesus amongst Romans,
Bodies of my lovers crucified row upon row.
For once condemned, death is merely a blessing.
I pray for it to end once more.
Once I loved, now I cannot.
Dream a “gothic” dream of suffering and blood.
A ballroom dance that will not end.
Such is the life of the tormented.
Madness, utter and total madness.
Insanity is a blessing I do not deserve.
Attacked and tortured into submission,
Still it does not quench my masochistic thirst.
Oh, how I long to ease my pain,
Or can I destroy it completely?
Wrists bleeding, on my knees I cry,
Shouting words not suited for mortal ears.
She once shared my blessed insanity,
Now hate drives her existance.
Once she whispered to me “I love you,”
Words I always longed to hear.
My whore, my beautiful whore,
Come unto me, let us celebrate death.
I pleade for her, I beg for her,
Yet she leads the demons that continue their onslaught.
What is this place, why am I here?
Why is my face no longer my own?
The dark, embrace me like a lover,
Return me to my emptiness.
Raped of my joy, I stand alone.
Cursed like Jesus on his cross.
Prayers for salvation are merely words,
Their evidence lost to the breeze.
Wet with eager antisipation,
The blood flows more steadily now.
My morality, even in it’s purest for form is sacriligious.
Death take me please.
The trojan horse burns and the seas become as blood.
All the while destruction is infinite.
I am a God sitting on a throne of pain,
Holding the sceptre of pain and crowned of lies.
Why have I never noticed how beautiful blood is,
As if flows from these scarred arms.
Suicide, a joyous occasion,
It should be shared with my whore.
My whore, my beautiful whore.
Complex in her simplicity, she confuses me.
Why do all my loves end this way?
Abstinance seems like a form of suicide.
Sex and lies, one and the same.
Like a death in the family, depression is a friend.
My life, please make it end.
The cup of life is empty, I want to die.
-Shade
Feb/ 2001
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Please forgive me… One of my best poems, written in a much angrier time…