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.

Please,

just let me go,

oh hungry monster,

to drift down

the gentle currents,

Ophelia left to

her own devices.