The wrinkles; they worried me as if loose earth threatened to bury me.
Alive I was, yet I felt myself dying whilst the angels watched over prying;
I resisted nothing, so I continued;
In my stubborness I knew I’d die trying;
O’ The things that are thought up in the follies of sleeping!
A foreign realm where in all clear conscience,
The curious and nefarious as a shadowing Nosferatu come creeping.
I speak of last night’s dream, a thought of soaking in blood;
Which I have to admit felt sinfully good.
A thought that made me snigger, With Sucre vert in hand;
I was aware and as daft as the hatter in my own wonderland.
So there I lay in the watery warmth of all my ignorance,
Deaf to the despair of my crummy victims,
Simply tossing the bodies over the wall and limbs asunder,
Or nailing them down six feet under.
I did regret nothing and cleansed with a smile that dirty word “Murderer”,
A grotesque Chelsea grin slashing me in a jolly from ear to ear;
Laughing wild hyena, the dizzy tippler.
My mouth sliced my face with a gasp “au contraire”,
For in this dream as in life;
I’d rather kill another than be old without hair;
Only a man has the hair which be fashioned of three,
Parted, Un-parted and departed so distasteful for a lady;
So not for me!
The dreamt up devil spawn of Countess Bathory!
Hairs brushing my shoulders like a feather full wing,
I was a vision in black, in fact just about everything!
Captivating in all from my birthday suit to funeral clothes;
Christ! I was as perfect as a verse by Poe!
Though I have to admit I didn’t use just about anything.
I preferred those I preyed upon to be like the fresh bloomed rose;
I especially despised those with the raven’s beak for a nose.
This dream contained another, I was not alone;
A royal pain in the bloody arse, moan after moan.
Intruding In this dream the love of my life did question;
“What’s that thumping sound against wood?”
And so it was that I royally hissed;
(and so it was also that from the drink I was terribly pissed)
“Silence and sickle a little emerald blood,
You impertinent man it’ll do you some good”
“It’s from under the floorboards” he continued to argue and whine,
I knew that he knew & so did nervously chime,
“It’s the love of my heart soaring for you valentine!”
Little did he know where my true beauty lied?
Right beneath him in fact where I stuck her shortly after she sadly died.
Petite fragile features and virginal innocence, did best dress;
This bathing in blood, absinthe synchronized swimming;
Arthur Gordon Pym adventures of foul over brimming!
Yours truly-
Dead to the world and day dreaming!
Darling sweet Raveness.
