Flesh-Monger Life
whoever is not a mind sucks me in
a beast-like thing
shaking off the past as residue
my resin, the end of the feathered glories
guilt-ridden always fear desire, they told
is stinking fleshy gunpowder
pinkish but explosive
BAM
as thoughts melt, I corporal
I, who live in the absence of a true life
turn to a black fiend, held tight, leashed
only as the night pushes in white on, white on
unleashed
youth is an accessory to death
a choking neckless to a dark mistress
slowly reeling me in breathless
confidently wordless, she grins and soothes
faces
wearing fur as a reminder of her fury
animal masking as unwinding, the mortal coil
an excuse to live and walk all walks of life
to wet reproduce nights
only to let me sip
mouth half full, half empty
I’m an apparatus
for the flesh-monger life
who nudges me to the strenuous
dark night of the soul
while it matters
saint something, say something
like me vile
whoever minds sucks me in
image: Julia Soboleva