B-cup Collecting Tips on the Southeast
the city's sick scar, fuels my descent, into this abyss, where twisted creatures writhe, in the darkness. cyclops with one eye, on the ball, three-headed puppies, sealed behind glass, strippers selling tickets to the apocalypse. a demon, a door-to-door salesman, asks for my dough, my scratch, my entire lunch budget, think i’m some golem, bred for his amusement. newsflash, satan, inc.: i’m not buying what you're selling, not today, not ever. i unleash the nuclear option, a superwoman uppercut, his face hits the cranial drain, and my hand screams in sweet agony. this just got real, this just got weird. this is my life, where lunacy is currency, and I'm the clerk, jacking waivers to the outskirts of sanity.
*
cankers of the damned, blinded by the sun of self-importance, rot in your own stagnant depths. i’ve swum in this abyss, feasted on the carrion of the city's discarded dreams. the abyssal labyrinthine, where the absurd and the grotesque, dance in the candlelight of a lonely night. the demon's words, a siren's song, luring me to the shores of chaos, i’ll take the punch, in the face, in the gut, in the depths of my own haunted psuche. for in this twisted wonderland, i am the madness, and the madness is me.
*
i stumble through the ravaged streets, a flautist of the fragmented, my breath a thanatopsis for the unreal. i’ve collected the relics of a thousand midnights, the whispers of succubi and the fiddles of the dying. the world's a circus of somersaults, and I'm the ringleader, juggling the shards of a shattered mirror. the devil’s chuckle still echoes, a calliope tune in the halls of my mind. i’ll grab a bottle of venom, a vial of hellfire, and dance with the shadows, where the darkness is my solace, my home. in this city of broken dreams, i’ll find my song, my opium for the masses, my requiem for the damned. tonight, i’ll give the monsters a show they'll never forget, a festival of freaks, a bacchanalia of the grotesquery.
*
as my body sits here on the edge of pandemonium, my mind wanders for what the true meaning of all this is, will they meet in some back alley so my frame can be the structure it needs to be, stay tuned.
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Beatrix Macabre
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