Blood Personified
She’s in the
writing on the wall penned by a self-inflicted gunshot,
She flows through
the scarlet bathwater of a volitional execution,
She trickles down
the legs of blossoming femmes,
And explodes in a
sanguinary blast of new life.
She appears
through the slicing of flesh,
Languidly oozing
her stark red hue,
She can be found
in the stains of a hospital bed,
Her cardinal
complexion clashing with their bleach-white sterility.
She flows through
virile veins,
Through sinew,
tissues, and gristle,
And even in death,
She lingers until
she is no longer needed.
She tirelessly,
perpetually dances through life,
Her lively,
cardinal force weaving itself into everyday existence,
A vibrant, rippling
dress of ruby accentuating her sways and bows,
Cherry red lips
brightening her face,
Her hair a fiery,
luscious mane of crimson curls.
She is the vital
life force that connects us all,
Her garnet tide
surging within every living creature,
Ultimately releasing
itself through labored, dying breaths.
She effortlessly
slides under warm flesh upon inception,
And is the last to
leave before the Reaper arrives.
Hell is here,
Hell is now,
Fire and brimstone
does not rain from the Heavens,
It savagely
smoulders and churns beneath my crown,
Turbulently
blazing through gray matter ‘til it’s black with soot.
Shrill cries
produced by wicked, gaping maws,
Urging me to
extinguish them,
Demanding that
blood be shed,
Begging for that
sweet release,
Their tones
maniacal and warped,
Their tongues
twisted and cunning.
Barbed talons
constantly raking me back into everlasting flames,
As I listlessly
heave my butchered, raw body towards the Gates of Hell,
Only to be
savagely ripped away time and time again,
Into a bottomless
trench brimming with neuroses and despair,
Its slate waves of
madness drowning me,
Devouring me,
Violating my
mouth,
Coating my teeth
in slick oil,
Oozing viscous tar
into my lungs,
Settling in the
pit of my stomach like stone.
The devil is not
just on my sagging shoulders,
He’s become a
permanent fixture on my blemished back,
Cloven hoof marks
imprinted like ink,
Jagged scars lie
where His hooks have been,
His baritone voice
snaking its way into my subconscious,
His fiery eyes
tearing my soul asunder.
-
Hell is here on
Earth,
It is not hiding
under crust and mantle,
It is not a place
of magma rivers or echoing shrieks of anguish,
It’s splattered on
the walls after a suicide,
It nests in the
shadowy recesses of neurotic minds,
It crawls into bed
with you as Depression,
It melts you
through Mania,
It suffocates you
with Anxiety,
It renders you
dysfunctional and invalid,
Breaking you down
more with each episode,
Adding more weight
onto your already buckling frame,
Whipping your
scarred, weeping back with its weathered cat o’ nine tails,
Then voraciously
sucking the life out of your husk of a body,
Leaving behind a
discarded skin wrapper,
With nothing left
to give.
The Sweet, Sultry Kiss
of Death
Upon a night as
black as His spectral, billowing robes,
The moon radiantly
shimmering in the twilight,
A somber, hushed,
chilled visitor comes to me,
Silently drifting
through darkened hallways,
Effortlessly gliding
into my disheveled chambers,
Peering down upon
my lily-white fleshed body,
An expression of
resolute determination filling His gaunt, skeletal visage.
He tenderly
brushes a pointed, icy hand across my cheek,
My living skin
warming the tips of His fingers,
And as I languidly
open my turquoise eyes to stare into His silvery irises,
He affectionately
smiles,
Leaning into the
waves of heat emanating from my red-blooded frame.
“My Sweet, I heard
you calling. I heard your prayers.”
He whispers ever
so delicately,
Lovingly tucking
my chestnut hair behind one ear.
“I heard your
tragic song of sorrow.”
I drink Him in,
His kind yet
cadaverous face,
The piercing
frostiness of His presence,
His funereal
attire,
And the fact that
I feel overwhelmingly serene with Him by my side,
As if the very
nature of me is singing His praises,
As if I’ve been
waiting for this exact moment my entire life.
“You did?” I
listlessly sigh back,
The whites of my
eyes widening, glistening faintly through the shadows of my room.
“I did. Now let me
ease your pain, let me take it from you.”
He threads His
bony fingers with mine,
His arctic breath
pleasantly tingling my face.
Glossy tears well
in my eyes,
A sea of
bittersweet happiness cascading through me.
“How did you hear me?”,
I choke, His cool
disposition enticingly pulling me in even deeper.
“I’ve heard your
crying and your death wishes,
I’ve heard your
suffering and your agony.
I’ve read the woes
in your writing,
I’ve seen the hurt
that you carry.”
“I know your soul
is restless,
And that your
heart is heavy.
I know you.”
He says, wrapping
another glacial hand around me,
The sensation of
melting ice sinking into my alabaster skin,
As He draws me in
closer into His macabre, seductive web.
Our hungry faces
inches apart,
His frosty touch
caressing my vulnerable anatomy,
Begging me to take
a dive into His deadly waters,
I breathlessly
ask, “What do we do?”
“Let me eat your
grief so that you no longer writhe in it,
Let me bottle your
tears so that they no longer flow,
Let me reap your
soul so that it no longer weeps,
And let me swathe
your heart so that it no longer beats.”
“Let me kiss you,
Let me suck the
life out of you and take it as my own,
Let me extinguish
that dim light behind your eyes,
And replace it with
a refreshing nothingness.”
He murmurs,
His frosted lips
already pressed against mine.
I lean into His
supernatural charms completely,
I relinquish my
mortality,
I offer Him my
essence,
And He thirstily
swallows it all,
Physically
gripping me with all His might,
Tightly forcing me
up against His ossified form,
Inhaling my entire
existence,
And exhaling His
lethal, polar air deep into my failing lungs,
Freezing my blood
in its tracks,
Piercing my heart,
And enveloping my
brain in a sheet of ice.
He mutely pulls
away,
My lips a shade of
sapphire,
My eyes shut
permanently,
And calmly leaves
the same way He arrived,
Traveling towards
His next bleak house call,
His next customer
warbling their own funeral dirge.
Emily Mulligan currently
resides in Virginia and has always been creative, ever since she could put
pencil to paper. She spends a great deal of time focusing on her numerous
creative outlets and is particularly devoted to her writing. In her spare time,
she enjoys hiking, immersing herself in nature, spending time with family, and
doting over her two cats, Mally and Tink.
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