Ophelia Thrill

I got a delicious thrill
in the mere act of
watching you
watch other people.
You seemed interested,
just as I,
in these strange
and exotic beings,
bumping up against
other flailing spirits,
little blushes and
brushes with
pleasure and mortality.

It was really the
body rhetoric that
drew me in,
feeling subtle energy cues,
creeping from my pulsing third eye
steadily down to my blistered feet
like an adrenaline rush
of pleasure in the nighttime.
I heard the whispers
of words that you never
dared to say,
pound in my ears
like three lines of a song
that sticks in my head,
on repeat.
And you didn’t have to explain
with tongues lashing out of holy mouths,
because I was always
well versed in the language
of tasty bones and blood,
pumping and betraying
your so-called secrets to me.
And though you feigned
apathy and callous cognition,
you and I both knew better,
just another scared and sacred boy,
craving to be heard
through the machine white noise
and speaker feedback.

I felt stuck though,
falling for other fallen angels
that I wanted to
embrace so softly,
long enough
to soothe and sex the pain out
of their broken astral bodies,
found instead
that they sucked me dry
of my healing powers,
black hole taming,
your addictions and afflictions
held on to my already clipped wings,
taking me straight down
to the rivers of hell
and high water,
drowning me slow,
submerging me
till most of the breath was
strangled out,
then to hoist me out of the water,
just for a splice of a moment,
to give me your
“you should be so lucky” glint,
and to show your pretty painted-on face,
smirking at my tortured lungs,
hear your soft sultry lies
that I let you get away with,
then plunging me down again
into the icy waters
that did not forgive
or forget without blood sacrifices
to the gods of sadism.

I woke screaming
from that dream
that repeated on
my writhing veins.
Oh honey,
you cant spend your hours
saving those
dark mystery creatures,
they crave the cycle
of the death drive,
licking up the spilled blood
of the innocent,
dangerous in their actions
and quick to pour
cruel words on
my already bled and raw flesh
that only moistened to
the thought of light
and a world where
heaven was enacted on earth
instead of that glorification of violence.
I deserved better
than this abuse,
and deep down,
you felt it too.
just let me go,
oh hungry monster,
to drift down
the gentle currents,
Ophelia left to
her own devices.

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