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,
madness, wild-eyed and all agleam.
– how to be a god / and how to kill one – t. bennett