#bespook

[izzyrhiannonjones]

Watery Wastes

Unholy Communion

Chrysalis skin, softness scoured away,

Wounds sanded to silver bone,

Worm-wriggled, man-soured, Night-bleached,

Exhibitionism, souls sunk to nibbled depths,

Ocean sockets drinking in the dark,

Don’t dare ripple the surface for fear they

Shall rise. Spitting teeth and pearls,

Shell-strung and humming misswum prophecies

Charting them on your organs, in your souls.

Burial At Sea

Raw knuckles, wind lashed back,

Eyes too salted to see a chance beam,

Splintered above plummets, a make-shift

Harpoon for a wrung out blood-bag,

They stitched me up, last thread through

The nose and, nameless, committed me

To the waves, gaunt pity engulfed.

No talking down here, no orders, and

All the ocean’s hunger ain’t my own,

Here in the whurling weeds we feed,

My gnarled flesh makes for poor snacking

Amongst the lush coral banks. I dangle here

And the sea, she plays my xylophone

Frame and here tis easy to beleive i

Was no loss to the loveless world above.

A Rising

The oceans are overflowing, swollen with shit,

With molten ice, with spent and curdled dreams,

She’s sick to her gorged vaults, she’s dragging

Up deadly forces, you’ll call unprovoked.

Digesting our waste, and our dead. She has

Accepted the cursed and wretched of an entire species,

Kept their cold fury, waiting, now she gifts them back to us.

[izzyrhiannonjones]

The Growl Inside

Wood walker, night scourger

Here comes thy hour

Blood fastener moon drinker

Pace this way home

Clumped fur undernail

Claws trod to softest sound

Peel down weary skin

Till it changes, clogs the drain,

Revealing the ruined underside,

Leaf tongued whisper of hungers

Unreturned, this flesh unindulged

What will thy leave this wound unlicked?

This itch unscratched, condemned as the

Lust of another’s form, roam as a lamb

Amongst the beasts, till, tiring of

The proper charade, you loose

The growl inside and love at large.

[izzyrhiannonjones]

Monster Problem

The monster had a darkness, i cannot tell you its face,

Only that it was too heavy for the space it occupied,

Pounding after you like an overeager shadow,

Inevitable.

On days the world’s prism slices my eyes with fear,

My mama reminds me of my monster problem,

Long ago solved by five year old’s logic,

She means to tell me that all evil shall pass, it must pass.

The monster visited nightly, till i learned to dread my dreams,

To this day when sleep pumps my heart plump

Full of salt, when all terror at this vast vast world eclipses,

Or seems to, all courage, I wait, I wait and for now it doesn’t return.

‘Remember your monster problem’.

In the end i’d stopped running and permitted it to feast on me,

Sated by my small body, it departed, as yet unreturned,

i have waited for it every night of eighteen restless absent years.

But the monster isn’t waiting;

The monster got creative;

The monster laid its eggs and the more i grew the more it fed, till i

Know devouring from the inside is what it means to be ‘at peace’.

The monster got creative, for it knows that to feed on

Those who cannot survive it, is to feed on all our flesh,

It’s only luck that sways between us.

In the privilege of others’ arms

I let the monster eat its fill,

Willingly paying the price of its teeth in my lifeblood.

Let us never forget: we do not get to decide

That the monsters’ toll is worth paying by others,

Let us never be willing to pay for our joy in the blood of others.

The monsters will always feast; only together shall we survive them.