Is the best time,
as you come to the realization.
Tied-down pleasures become a false step
into a future crime scene’s promise,
for within the moment
we abandon all control.
As passion’s fluids escape
as quickly as life’s force.
As screams can equate pleasure
as well as agony,
either are equally intoxicating to my ears.
We are both as much light
as we are dark,
as I would rather mock the lies handed down as truths
that no longer suit a lost society’s false narrative.
Are they not beautiful,
within this unending void
where nothing awaits your prayer’s glimmer of hope?
The wicked die with the righteous all the same.
As we are but compost
of human flesh and assorted parts.
I cherished your heart,
so I carved it from your chest.
It is but a muscle,
as I am but an animal,
one step above a machine
and equal within my lack of remorse.
Time is momentary,
as is your presence upon this plane of existence.
The light within your eye
is as beautiful as the gleam
of this butcher’s knife.
Life is filled with choices,
and you, my dear,
simply made the wrong one.
Time’s up.
Farewell.
There is no such thing as forbidden fruit within my domain.
John Patrick Robbins, us a Southern Gothic writer who's work has been published in.
Horror Sleaze Trash, Fixator Press, A Thin Slice of Anxiety, Cold Rambler, Lothlorien Poetry Journal, Spill The Words Press and here at the Dope Fiend Daily.
His work is often dark and always unfiltered.
