VANITAS ― Poetry

ix.

with grenadine lips that drip with sangria

you whisper

nox into my thoughts

and lumos to my heartbeats

you drag your nails down my mind, 

your personal onyx chalkboard

you scratch and draw with mother-of-pearl bones

and purple-stained nails made of 

blue blood and smudges of my cherry swollen lipstick

you claw your way into my chest

my heart, a summer night where 

millions of iridescent fireworks explode

and reshape the dead spaces between stars,

broken kaleidoscopes of psychedelic tears,

fragmented dreams and Kafkaesque fears

you pull me to you and say

you want to make art out of my misery

that the depths of my museum have been ignored for too long

that you won't leave a single corner untouched, unseen or unbroken

that my body is an exhibition others can admire during the day

but only you can visit at night

you say I'm the seventh wonder of the world

(the seventh piece of your soul)

but you only like wonders

so you can walk among their ruins

tom riddle, the viper in my bosom

the tongue carries the toxin

the lips deliver the poison

the fingers sneak through the valley

to reach an odd duck neck with veins

that guard blood so you can spurt it

you kiss the spot where my pulse lives

so you know where to kill it

I'm a masterpiece at your hands

the kind that is forged in a crematorium

or ends up in a mortuary

the kind only someone sacred can hold

for all others will want to sin with it

(you have sinned the most)

the altar bread falls apart between our liquor-coated tongues

(amaretto glazed over red wine)

baptize me in the rivers of your rage

for the only holy water you've ever tasted

was the salt amidst my tears

you wrap your hands around my neck

and I think I can see the gates of heaven