Villainous

Catacombs

At the corner of pity and empathy
what tangled web you weave with
those strands of villainous intentions,
trails of false sadness for unsuspecting men,
a scream for salvation from a nest built of
bones sucked dry of marrow by gaslight

You thief, broken copy of an oceanic queen,
my seas would spit out your plagued body
return it to whichever plain it came from

No desert would accept your bones or
be wide enough to soak your poison,
filter out whatever sweet honesty
you may of once had to deliver you
to the hands of redeeming angels

And I am no angel

It is not redemption or happiness you seek
nor quietness of trust between kindred souls,
but the symphony of crumbling at your feet,
lustful attention, the shrapnel of consequence

I have long ago dissected my arms
to see my humanity pouring from me,
to see my heart beat,
what humanity have you?

Where is the self-attrition for your sins,
for driving sweet men to madness?
For soiling good intentions
with un-invited innuendo

Consider this the final cut on my flesh,
not in attrition but in surgical removal
of your cancerous thread,
know your poison did not settle
between my ribs and spine,
just enough was allowed to enter
to build immunity against your kin

Know my words were never yours, only pity
for a dead heart without hallowed
burial ground of forgiving earth, or cleansing
pounding sea commanded by these hands,
these hands will never be yours

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