Fetish

Poetry to scratch your eyes out to

I found you,

in two.

Hanging from the redwood.

Made more beautiful than you ever could.

The rain kissed pallid,

parted lips

that bloated above the growing mass of maggots.

Bright blight

leaked from either half,

bringing a growing cloud of wrested miasma.

Dreaded fog spreads.

I found you,

in two.

A dangling fetish I dreamed of finally made true.

Dead;

true.

A bouquet of arms bloom from your waist, two by two.

Gripping, grappling fingers flay skin from bone to expose the amalgamation grew.

That which hung from the redwood wept as a cradle might.

A child born far from god, meant for nothing more than a sane minds final sight.

You were beautiful in full bloom.

Bioluminescent glows across the dying light the swarm or eyes leave not subsumed.

I found you,

A beating heart deep within the flesh fine teeth tattoo.

Rot blot on life.

This veil,

frail thin fabric of reality will find you; the knife.

For you,

I've split myself in two.

Flesh as a doorway, broken and bore through time, into the surface of the earth.

Stars dim and die as you gaze upon them.

you; the event horizon at the edge of life, over the edge of death.

Shepherd, please.

Heard us across the threshold into your diocese

Please,

Be the sword to our Damocles.

Our fetish to our disease.

Photo by Roman Raizen on unsplash and edited by me.