Wednesday, July 8, 2009

The Fourth Circle of Hell

To touch and hold the fringe of Dawn’s white dress
Is merely nature, but to grasp her flesh
And plunge deeper in between the sacred
And the sacrilegious is to taste death,
The very place where my desire grows
Beyond the bounds of nature and into
cravings of one descending damnation.


Her blood is upon my hands and my lips,
Dripping from the mouth of one unable
To satisfy the appetite growing
Fiercer each and every time I give in.
Her purity marred and denigrated
All for nothing more than the bestial
Hungers of an avaricious pervert.


My meal consumed, my palate placated,
I lie in wait for more flesh untainted.


-Originally written February 15, 2009

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