Dressed in a featherlight gown made from shamanic cotton and cleansed cobalt
Adorned in an imperial onyx garland of olives and a celestial cerulean necklace
Scented in dragon ash and drenched in black mercury yearning for frostbite
Marionettes and jesters remind you to not be so afraid of their sweet embrace
With pupils that flicker like lightning and grins that mimic deep kinship
Their poetic justice starves itself to kiss the rime and sleet of ancient blizzards
So you wave your magically taut arrows and fill their storm with laughter
You drunkenly hum a tune and dreamwalk through fate’s outer crucible and its library
Crafting curses of credibility straight from the source of fossilized souls
Hollowing out all royal root vegetables and hanging false talismans of compassion
You find yourself with a karmic crossbow of the crossroads lined with calcified jewels
Readying your stance to fend against the gourds and defend the estate from my clouded vault
The estate shrieks out that pride is not the same as sovereignty
And it begins to wither as its walls burn and burst into plaster
With a glint in its eye and as the bearer of a new curse crafted by bleach and brine
The exiled estate becomes a castle constructed of coral and alabaster
Where its furniture misbehaves through divine chivalry and exalted jealousy
Having been thrown in and out of the In-Between and into a seance simulated through some trickster’s hands
As our voices echolocate through dreams of green graves and desert willows
You must search for the beast that formed from the known and the unknowable amidst the galactic beauty
To not guise with the pots and scry at the pans til the past turns present too often
For its blight takes contempt and blazes as bright as magnesium
It sweats and cries tears of acid rain yet it glitters like shadows in the grimlight
To only become oathborn yet synaptic through this search for the cairn of crimson commotion
For you are my midnight prince in this great noble grimdark
Yet you slaughtered my rats as they rusted into their wrought iron ratcage
Now decorated with squash and turnips obscured with ice and our interstellar shame
Just to get lost in your amber vault of tears where you wade through your bogs on the way to the widowmaker’s apple
Those anxieties to be conquered by what remains in the form of this galactic beauty
Leaving the estate in passive decay and the vault drowning in muck and dank driftwood
A fake reality is like an infinite library
Runebound to your studies learning my body like undeciphered texts and tomes
We have become beasts of cosmic horror together in an emerald land of eternal youth
Yet I monstrously replicate myself into a cyborg haunted and hexed by pure intimacy
Lined in salt and lodestar marrow from a long lost eclipse-veiled ossuary
As my body aches to realize that magnetic lichen feed off the prideful peat
Its gravelly coast once scorched by drakes and smothered in moss
The blackened tide from within its tenebrous hearth holds long lost treasures
Guarded by hollering headless horsemen and their mounts that bray at the liminality
As sentinels that guard the lighthouse of the central cairn that protects said cages, lanterns, and riches
Who can create sacrament made from their saffron farms that tie ink to sigil
Like banshees as they yell scripture onto your vellum like tattooing legal tender
So do not get lost in the vantablack as we have been working up the courage to fight
To butcher chimeras and slaughter cryptids to find out if we are villainized victims
Only to wake up to dreams of each other and pretend they don’t actually happen
Like we are maximally aesthetic yet minimalistically philosophical with the bugs
For we won’t admit to ourselves we could be everything and a wonderful experience at the same time
Yet you disappeared only to sit in your oily, blackened vault and take all the eternal blame
© Niklen 11/5/26
