Black Swan Love Letter
REMINGTON GRAVES
For whatever reason, the dilettante did surrender with tender shame, driven empathy and rash whimsical effrontery; the envelope opener lay in her trembling open hands, which rested upon the white silk night robe her mother passed on to her a few years before her death. Beautifully baroqued boudoir at a gaze distance from the foggy beach, now sat silently as it’s lord began to beg and then whimper. She was never one to beg and now here she was, blubbering idiotically at the sight of her blonde hair and its breaking dead ends. In The Hall Of The Mountain King tip-toed tauntingly into her mind and she stood dropping the evidence and raising her arms towards her intricate high ceiling and begun to spin violently. Her hair was a blondfire that blurred in burning glares as she gazed at spinning Victorian tiles that riddled the roof. Cymbals began to crash as she bit into her tongue with carnivorous commitment and gurgled scarlet bubbles and fell to her knees against a cold marbled floor cackling and clamoring to Johan Pachelbel’s Canon In D Major. The white roses she kept from her wedding trembled in another room with activity from maggots and frenzied flies. The silverware hand-carved from Castelluccio, Umbria no longer reflected the hot pinks, lavenders, oranges, and neon yellows of the fields that blossom with violets and poppies in the spring. Her toes became pale as she laid there prostrated and suddenly decided there was no longer a need to pray, to beg, to seek the countenance of a fabricated cunt called god.
Habanera sidewinded towards her in the cutting chords of Callas as she stood silently amid the forlorn lust and languid luxury of a life unmistakably let down. With a thick, wet burgundy stripe on the front of her gown, she imagined herself a black swan…drifting down a river…while snow suddenly fell from the heavens like small feathers—slowly and sweetly.
∞
Vastius
REMINGTON GRAVES
The ending business of an etching goodbye, betwixt the blunder and the brood, eradicated flailing concerns, gobbled up the esoteric posturing, and thrusted forward the salivating sudden urge to break the black marble underneath his fisting feet. His prudent and prestigious parents had conceived him the first and fairest of them all. His parents were Olympians of oblivion, and thus had gifted him to lesser vermin to test his worth: a terrestrial home with celestial erasure was to be his fate. Eyes perfectly placid and wanting for not, nevertheless the child deemed unworthy of the world, constructed the corners of the universe according to his will—anchored by the edges of the planet that imprisoned his prepubescent disposition. Lips perpetually pursed and pulsing with the pensive disdain for people’s prurience. Hands crafted the black arts unknowingly and quite naturally—a sorcerer plunging at the stone with a fiery sword of graphite summoning chimera clumsily and with nihilistic nonchalance. Biting his tongue when the elders scolded him for his precocious proclivities. What fools these mortals be, he thought running fingertips aflame across the frozen face of fear belonging to a dog deceased, a frenzied and shuddering fox( and only opening them up for dissection after they had expired, as he liked them more than humans). The company of other children drained his vital energy as he felt them useless things.
And he would wander. And he would ponder.
And no one quite understood. The swirling and shifting depths of the god child; for his slithering tongue was the cosmic brush that elegantly conjured the cracking cunt that birthed the gorgeous chasm where chaos reigned; his cold stone heart strapped down the rabid hounds he knew as emotions and heeled them to submission; incandescent consummation of his stare did see past the present and the past and fucking fervently the future, in everlasting rings of eternal return…
And he knew, they never would.
∞
Fuck You Want
REMINGTON GRAVES
Another year close to death
Death too close yearn another
The body betrays itself
Itself betraying the body
Closure clamored success
Success closure clamored
I live in a simulation
between Venus and Mars
And you want And you want And you want
Yes you want
Yes you want
Yes you want
Total bore
∞