A Cult—Occulted
FEB 01, 2025
Dawned a great awakening—egoism and narcissistic tendencies
foxes hear these angels who whisper nearer
the coast of my enlightenment, a great reflection
Oh this body of water, lend me
reflections, fractals of your oceans, snowflakes
that mirror of one’s solemn soul—soil
malnourished and dehydrated
desperation for the soul of the Earth—water
and the air we breathe
in fumes of fire, pride
In the dirt we grow monsters of sacred bedrest
lustful envy becomes these dark and hooded creatures
of the night, bodies ache and scream in terror
lucid is the one who takes flight
escapee and refugee
come hither to the one who sings unto thee
Waves of mystery—misery
allows this frequent distaste of mutilation
cut at my throat, my wrists
Upright lines, take my daemons
virgin is the night, virgin is the one who takes flight
Skin sacks of vanity and futility
this brotherhood of light
a Hermetic pilgrimage to allow one’s deepest desires
a cringe at the thought of disrespecting archaic religion
a bastard to be born of this
singing songs of same-sex unity
Masturbation to the thought
orgasm of the devil’s haughtiness of sin
Don’t speak of this to your mother
lest you be riddled with shame
or your humanness a demise
You’re not allowed to be happy!
What of those who glee in delights of suffrage!
What of those who dwell in cities of despair!
Have you no shame for thinking these thoughts of pleasure?
Have you no soul to bare?
How do you taste?
All that you sin, such a waste.
As you light these fumes, you stove
always tripping the wire.
The soul’s demise of your crooked anguish.
The bread you toast in your convenience.
Old poets and abuse
the negligence of bliss
femininity taken for granted and the evil between her hips
no flower for you fool, stripped of purity
a world too cruel.
War for you war for you war for you for you
shut up shut up shut up.
Taken to the grave by self mutilation
pills swallowed to numb, mind-bending
at the thought of staying alive
you wither and writhe
your corpse trapped inside
a box of all your belongings
braids of hair and underwear
the most intimate of things
control yourself, can’t you see
you’re hurting yourself
stop this madness
give it up, you
authentic creature who seeks
peace in this world that is born of war, it asks only for
the hatred that you store.
I’ve waited all my life
to find
something to stand firmly in this:
for what I believe.
These old poets and their broken lives
they sing to me.
