Your Lamb-Like Blood
You, fear.
Oh vile shard of cosmic glass! Oh thorn in my side! May doom be upon you. For you call attention to the unmasked truth— That my way forth Leads through the vastation Of thy pumping heart. And I tremble— My inner desires cannot be known by the choir— I blame you and all your life-drenched soul. In my attempt to name thy blood as poison, I have made thy blood to ichor, And I pay for it, in the stench that surrounds me, In the wake of that great bloodletting that is my curse, My destiny. Oh, You evil thing. You twisted, stunted little toad. I will foment darkness in your soul. I will call upon the rot to swarm and scourge as it invades your body. I will cast a thousand year hex upon thy name— All who utter it shall be forsaken, Shall have the very air they breathe turn to ash in their throat, Shall know only water that is staunch with blood, Shall reap only poison with their gore-stained hands, None more than you! You, the deceiver. You, fear. You, whose innocence I ignore. You, whose innocence I know is there.
And so I loathe you. And so I seek to gnash my teeth and devour you, To digest you and take all your evil from you, as nourishment, So that it may corrupt my insides, So that I may become like you in the act of your destruction… But I already am like you. I am you, I was you, and I will be you. And all my curses fall upon myself, For that is who I really cast them on to begin with. And mine is the soul most defiled, By my lust for your lamb-like blood.
