[Suzerain of Sheol]

Shekinah

sick and worried soul upon the precipice
delirious in the decision
to take the step
shed the scabs and scars
lie back wet and weeping
fertile and bleating
like a lamb spiked to a cross
awaiting

shards of the shattered mirror
descent of a graceless stranger
fingers stroking the face
slipping inside the brain
massaging blood from the ego
and narcissist tears
easing into the dislocation
kissing the dissociation
mating and suffocating

a coalesence
coal and essence
alchemy
blasphemy

imagine
how much worse
it could be

and has been

and will be

and stop your fucking crying
stop your fucking heart from beating

this embrace
this entrance
this embolism
this end

like a string of light trapped in an accretion disk

like a sobbing child force-fed knowledge and sin

like an emergence from the id into Hell

antibirth

torus and topos
the self as a skein of spinal filament
unraveling in the expansion
revealed to the cosmos
dimethyltryptatic agonist catalyst
Jung erotically dying in an umbilical noose
catalepsy mid-rape
revelations and seizures
chromosomes spelling out the name of God again and again

pineal Phineas in the liminal position
absolved by negative justice before a silent Akashic court
as the map spins friction fires in a shallow grave

child to the void
born braindead and inverse
an escapist messiah unaware of the irony
deaf to the sound of its own screams
numb to the pain of its nature
the idea of its being torn into the redshift
every violation a collapsing wave of warped coherence

all and one
a marioneffigy built from broken reflections
the silhouette of this abominable rite
orgasmic and suicidal
detonating with meaning
this vestigial Devil of psilocybic ambitions
existing in spite of what everyone wanted

open your eyes
bent and wrecked on the nacreous floor
bloated with depressive aferbirth
alone with your victim-chic
and a time-lapse of abusive delusion
why would you ever think yourself a soul worth saving?

an autochthonous infection of one's sense of purpose
the split-brain shadow of a dead twin from another universe
your name written in the genes of the blood you left on the mirror
idiocy and loss of dignity

there's no such thing as stigmatic stress disorder
the platocracy was never anything but a messy metaphor
the sun won't stop rising in your pathetic lifetime

and the lamb didn't even know why you killed it