---

In my den

On the outskirts of density

The fools use miles to keep the wise at bay

And they think they’re safe

But for She

And they won’t speak Her name

Like a bad joke the horns sound

Hits like a dull cloud

As some poor son of a “don’t know how” sets out

And the scent’s out

Slash

Dust

They should have learned

If there was ever a reason not to stay here alone

Oh, and it’s like a bad itch

Maybe She could be

What I need

So let’s see

I gathered up all my holy books

O, my holy ink and paper

I burned them all

Stripped naked and I set out

And the scent’s out

I am hunger, I am thirst

Where I bite, I hold till I die

I can fast a hundred years

I can lie a hundred nights on the ice and not freeze

I can drink a river of blood and not burst

Now tell me, who comes to disturb me?

She spoke with a voice colder than a grave

But sure as stone, I held my gaze

I said I can make an inch a mile

I am the outcast, the truth-lie

I paint with ghosts

I am any and every meaning in life

I am black blood

I am deeper than dying

I am not here to conquer

I am here

The kill at her breath was a perfume

There was no denying that we belonged to each other

So what do gods do on equal ground?

They don’t suffer any will but their own

And so they went forth into stories told