cool, cruel curse

moon … beams that burn - that turn my surgings to slag my teeth to serrations, hungering … can those silly sentients not see the verity in my veneration, you? do they truly think it’s only art, only … verse? that my blood runs in these inky scratchings alone? ‘why pen these dark tales with such legitimacy - such … clear scope?’ oh … why, indeed! for were they but tales, they would hold their own undoing - such silly stories spatter the centuries, but my secrets speak from the dark of nightmares, whispered they move with the muscle of truth and bear witness to the fiery curse … I wonder, is my affliction as ancient as your mares and mounts? do those careworn crinkles hint of a lifeblood unseen that drips its poison to my arteries at each milky plenilune? with a single ruddy lesion you tore the sun from my sky - drove my days to the shadows, the beast, blossoming … did you entrance her, too, the one who broke my skin to weeping - who lit this pyre? am I now but another minion of your pale presidium, bound by iniquitous urge to sever other souls from the daylight? if only that laughing lad I was could’ve known why you tugged so hard, his verdant heart … why your shimmer ‘pon the sea timed its cadence, out-dazzling the sunrise … why every kiss - every lass’ fair dermis required your blue baptism to persuade - to pique my passions … perhaps then, with such portent, I might have learned to silence your alluring murmur in my ear, and hardened my marrow to your warm, wicked drug … but the truth hid from me in the shards of your strangling shadows until your diabolical delirium flooded my blood, thick as mud brought by a human far too exquisite to spurn - a warm wound, opened in burgeoned intimacy your scourge, igniting my veins - mixing serum with torment and ripping, like unfettered flesh, the bright-born sun … from my days.