She Did TellI met a woman, pale and fair,and, enamored with her phoenix hair,implored for her soft voice to tellthe look of demons outside hellShe raised her hands and showed her teeth"Well," she said, "They look like me."
His IntentionThe mortals clasp their hands to praywhen I snatch their souls awayHow very queer they pray to hewho hated them and sent me
008.My nimble fingers ripped awaythe wing of a flickering batI dropped the limb into my cauldronto curse a lover back
Untitled.I am sure that deathknows mercy- for who else couldbring deliverancewhen our fragile formshave been forced to know of thepain of mortal things,when by the veryquivering dust of stars thatcompose us we arecompelled to performevery imaginableact of suicide?Who is the one whoplaces us in our casketslike a mother toher only children-equal size, equal shape,none solely preferred?Such is the one whotakes and wraps us in the darkribbons of his cloakFor he must be ofimmense kindness to rid usof our seperatenessSo why, then, when heis aware of everythingthat I have suffereddoes he still turn hiss