The Hate Fuck In twisted Denial I’m sick like a practical Joke I play on myself She’s tender and mild Her beauty transcends My hatred for her So I desecrate her Flower Disassociating virtue Into a primal emotion She knows not of my Serial mind My fickle resolution Or my distorted Kingdom She glanced at it once Through dirty opaque Glass And was frightened at What she saw I thirst for her smell Upon my body Like a vampire’s blood I’d suck it out of her Along with her soul Every chance I get My ulterior motive gets The best of me I know not what’s real Am I me She believes I am I’m not sure As we lay naked in the Darkness Excerpt from: Plague of the Invigilare By Joseph DeMarco
