poem – eulogy: the lost goddess

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goddess sings

from a slit-and-split throat. speckled with moonlight, shivering against the arms of the forest floor / her voice trips and transforms from the lilt of a bird-song / to a dead girl’s gargle.

goddess sings,

not for mercy, but to make mortal men tremble / they wash the very last of her from their teeth / and she speaks no language that has ever passed our animal tongues

still,

her song calls / her body glistens / moon-song, word of the wicked / devil-speak, words of the burbling stream /and thundering oceans / the flutter of the fiscal’s crumbling wings / flame and the flesh it consumes – the goddess sings

and we listen.
t. bennett 

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poem: mirror me, mirror mine

the Reflection looks
on the flattened lines of my lips
and the unwavering eyes
and unfolds a little more
strengthens some
in knowing i look back on It with
less than hatred. lesser, still, than love. a little beyond
stagnating repulsion.

behind my shuttered throat
between my barbed wire thighs
along the rocky, valleyed ribcage
there’s a rekindling.
sweet, and so alive
it is almost simpering
is my coarse and flaming
re-beginning.

t. bennett

poem: plea of the heartbroken

feed my stuttering heart

a few words of placation, an

I’ll love you when you’re broken

or, I’ll love your bruises as they bloom. feel my lips on yours and our hands in each other’s and watch the fluttering of my eyes,

as you collapse around me

as if it’s where the universe began, and will end. let me make love to you in the dark, and soften against you in the light.

feed me a lie. love me enough

to cover my eyes,

to make fantasies from the smoke

of the truth

where it lays, lowly and burning.
– plea of the heartbroken ; t. bennett / @raggedhearts

poem: nephilim, pt. i

i gave the blood from my veins

to scrawl an unholy gospel on church walls

for i was the god of

your only religion. we burned the good book and kissed by the flames and all the truth we needed was knotted in the lines of my spine; in the flush of my lips and the curves of my thighs,

you saw your demise and

smiled.

t. bennett

 

micro-poem: a marriage of corpses

we are bare, brittle boned lovers,
broken by design,
carrying in our chests carrion hearts,
holding wastelands in unseeing eyes.

– t. bennett

poem: how to be a god / and how to kill one

wash blood from your hooded eyes; face the tearing of truth from sin, the virgins from their demon hordes, the faeries from their prison jars and lead

the ones you’ve loved best to the slaughterhouses, those deathly caverns, misty with the final breaths of the dying and long-dead.

be Master, be Mistress,

the hand tossing the moon into a dusty night, their sunlight as the darkness peels back

from a naked and trembling sky; at your whimsy, the will of the divine gone dark, turned depthless and wickedly awry,

seek the darkness that begot you. be snake-blood, thick as syrup and sweet as summer, the apparition at the edges of a cacophonous nightmare and thin as a scream –

for the last: be that, the residue of the Devil’s wildest dreams

and once your fire has settled into ash,

be nothing more than the face in your reflection,

sin,

solitude,

madness, wild-eyed and all agleam.

– how to be a god / and how to kill one – t. bennett 

 

 

poem: nightmare, walking

they told me

“write what you’re afraid of”

as if it’s that easy. i smell fear on my fingertips in the mornings
the words mock me. the blank page envelopes me. i am delivered from inspiration into a state of empty abhorrence.
i talk shit, and
nine times out of eternity
it doesn’t even rhyme.

i’d write what i was afraid of if
i wasn’t living it.

– t. bennett

poem: cataclysmic

you were the axis

of my first chance at love and without you here i don’t think

my heart remembers how to feel.

tell me, how will these fingers know

which way is left, and right; they attempt to make stitches and god bless them but i’m

torn

shredded from end to end,

without you, i stand

untethered. lover, lover,

so far from me you’ve wandered and still i ask of you, the last question i’ll ever whisper to the emptiness

tell me –

 tell me, now that you’ve gone

how do i remember

to breathe?
– t. bennett

poem: we are all one in the face of heartbreak

i know you have no heart to give,

the stench of its remains

linger, rotting and foul on the breath of those who devoured you –

whose kiss you pressed your bitter lips to.

 

it must be love, then

that makes sacrifices

out of beast and virgin alike.

– talia b. / @raggedhearts

 

micro poem: famine of the soul

no need for food

full up on misery

round bellied with the tantalising prospect

of suicide and

salted tears.

– t. bennett / @raggedhearts