Melancholia

What is this that makes me drown in my own skin?
Rendering me lachrymose,
Seducing me to a blank state of being,
A permanent repose

Caressing me with whispers of a drugged haze
Lashing out to escape a mental maze
Sweet assault so dour
An embrace of infinite power

Soft lips of cancer,
Like a lover in the throes of passion
Enticing my fading vitality
A kiss that absorbs my soul

I pledge my being to melancholy,
Singing its acrimonious melody,
Professing its suffocating adoration.
Reveling in its numbing affection

Shadow curls like cigarette smoke
Too fast for me to capture,
Fleeting hope, joyous angst
A demanding paramour of lies

Wear the mask then,
Dance with the beautiful woman
Whisper your essence to her
Live the deception one more time

Melancholia I cannot escape your clutches
When you are done I will be ashes
Cold, lifeless, a suitable necrosis
Blowing away into merciful oblivion.

©Immortal Illusion

Lilith

*******Companion piece to Delilah Incarnate*******

I could not really pinpoint the exact moment in time that I’d allowed her so far inside my carefully constructed system of walls that this current rift between us left me feeling like something hideous was trying to claw its way out of my chest. The fear of possible loss was very much palatable. Rolling my eyes, I laughed harshly at the melodramatic imagery. But… it actually kind of matched the burning hollow feeling that occurred each time my thoughts drifted to her. Which was too often. This out of control feeling; like my world would come to an end if she chose to cease communication with me was rather disconcerting. I almost resented her, because she clearly held the power. She seemed to be ignoring me with an effortless ease. Perhaps I was the fool for not learning how to switch off my emotions. I wanted to hate her for making me feel this way, but I could not. Instead I could only hate myself for my glaring idiocy and lack of hindsight. Warning signs left right and centre; yet I ignored them in favour of uncharted territory. My reward was a disease; eating up my brain and rendering me to a state of passably functioning. Everything had become mundane; a fucking banality. Dissatisfaction permeated everything I did and restlessness had become second nature. Oh yeah, I’d distract myself to the point of exhaustion so that my thoughts did not linger on her. But night always came along; with it dreams manifesting my fear of the inevitable. Poison had never tasted so sweet, nor come in such a deceptively attractive package. The antidote? Sever all ties before quietus occurred. Easier said than done.

©Immortal Illusion
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“The streets are all violent with murderous excitement.
The hunter and the prey are dancing every day; that waltzing jiberish where intake becomes outlandish.
I’m in a bad way every passing day.

A flash of dark interest steers us into this car crash,
uniting our remains, a fiery hurray …ay ay ay.
Our hands touch unnoticed,
pressed up against melting glass.
You’re calling out my name as the air escapes.”
(I Want To Be Buried in Your Backyard by Nightmare of You)

Puppet Master

Puppet on strings, dancing to a wrist-slitting tune. It’s all about control which is severely lacking. Dancing barefoot on broken glass and rusty nails, twirling around as bloody streaks paint the floor with a story. The pain unnoticeable, sinks beneath the resounding cacophony of rejection. In the mirror, unrecognisable is the name of the reflection. The puppet master of deformation through emotional abaccination. Because red is a colour of fascination, especially as it drains out of you.

Dodging Bullets

So…getting shot in real life isn’t as glamorous as it is in movies. For one, there’s no scantily clad woman falling on her knees beside your prone body begging you ‘not to leave her’ while giving you a spectacular view up her shirt. No. It’s just you lying on the hot asphalt with dirt under your finger nails as your heartbeat slowly fades. Oh, let’s not forget the nasty gunshot wound that throbs like a motherfucker. Okay it hurts like hell but throbbing sounds more macho; like I’m bearing the pain majestically while in reality, I’m sweating buckets and wheezing like an asthmatic person exposed to a pollen storm.
Yeah…also there’s that annoying bitch called hindsight mocking you concerning the current situation you are in. There is a reason why people don’t like being told “I told you so” because your inner voice does that job. Too well.
And the volume of the gunshot? If you do not die from the wound then you will definitely go deaf from the loudness of the gun going off. So here I am, partially deaf, bleeding out from my gut. It kinda feels like a bad case of dysentry raging through your intenstines.
Yet, despite all of this, my brain still has the energy to drift to its favouite obsession, her. I sadly do not have one of those ‘your life flashes before your eyes’ moments. No siree, instead I think of her, from the first kiss to the first fuck to the first fight and the first anniversary and finally how I was currently staring at her after she just shot me.