The Hell Of Ten Thousand Kisses

The Hell of Ten Thousand Kisses

Why did I want you?

Dark hole obscured by leaves. Empty sound of listless breath.

“Must... fill... this... chasm…

Need... more... souls... for... The Hell of Ten Thousand Kisses!”

(Maniacal laughter).

We stuffed each other into one another’s wounds.

I wasn’t empty but I felt hollow and the shape of your pain slotted neatly into mine.

Sometimes love is messy, like Jackson Pollock or blood spatter analysis.

It’s a miracle we survived, and something definitely died.

Naivety? Trust? The jury is out.

I’m clinging to hope… or maybe just discovering it.

I wanted you because anything was better than being alone with myself.

Now all I want is solitude and a peace so enduring that living things nest in it.

I have let Nature reclaim me and sink into the bliss of this Apocalypse.

©️ JM Tiffany

Mad

Beneath a tracery of wires and glimmering stars we planted the seeds of our sinister intentions:

To go mad with pleasure.

Spreading, touching, shrieking like birds, talons gleaming black. Cries from the deep. Blur of living visions. The mouths of hounds and dark carrion birds. We consumed each other, we Eaters of The Dead.

Like little promises, our fingers laced and locked.

We clung to each other throughout the night, until, like shadows, shifting between worlds, it all seemed to fall apart.

The terrible machinery of her emotions burned behind eyes that demanded blood.

I gave her reasons without apology for the sacrifice, and lay softly upon the altar.

Only fools guard their throats in the presence of love. I bared mine, inviting my ruin like an old friend.

Instead, she collapsed; the weight of her lay on me like a shivering blanket.

Though the Dawn found us we had lost ourselves only to wake in each other’s dreams.

©️ JM Tiffany

I Am A Ghost Amid Invisible Ruins

Most will never see me. They will never know the quick knife of pain, taught and arced, gasping for breath.

They will never know the blistering sparks of the burning nerve.

They have not crawled through the numb fires of broken columns, or the warped shadows of dead futures.

They will never know the well studied ceiling, the constellations of textured paint and cracked plaster.

They cannot grasp the listless longing of endless unwanted rest. They will never know how I used to run and leap, will never know the power, strength, and grace of my body or how it was ruined in pursuit of glory.

They will never know how I wished for death, or how I ran towards it.

They cannot understand that I would jump once more into the fire.

©️ JM Tiffany

Heal

Sometimes it takes a few well-made incisions to heal.

Sometimes another cut is what it takes.

Sometimes we need to be broken again in order to set the bone.

Healing is not symmetrical. It is never uniform, never all at once, and rarely easy.

And some wounds, they never heal. Few will admit it. They prefer the myth of the healing clock. Don’t be like them.

Don’t wait on time to fix you. You will bleed to death if you wait.

Apply pressure. Send up a flare. Stay conscious. Hold on to awareness, and listen to your pain.

It asks only this: that you acknowledge what is happening, and that you give yourself what you need.

Help may or may not be coming. In the meantime, take care of yourself and surrender to the rough work of healing.

©️ JM Tiffany

The Murder of Molly Brown

Have you seen the cat-tails Shifting beneath the bridge, Gathered in the shadows Down by the water’s edge? Have you heard the whispering That rustles in the reads? The rushes, they are speaking For there’s blood upon the weeds. And there’s a faint impression, A sadness in the air. A ghost of trauma lingers on To guide the seeking stare. And now down to the water We’ll gaze beneath the sheen To see the lifeless angel there, Drifting and serene. We wonder at her beauty, Her breasts, pale and bare, And curious we tremble: Is that image truly there? But then the water shimmers And things are put a’ right. But, Molly Brown was murdered here, And just the other night.

©️ JM Tiffany

The Leopard Queen

I met the Leopard Queen in a sea of faces.

Their dull inebriated eyes reflected the synthetic glory of rock-n-roll lights. They strobed like cop cars in the post-midnight miasma of another new year.

She was majestic. Amazonian. A thing carved by mythic hands from rare materials and draped in the tanned flesh of wildcats.

This place is a jungle, I thought, but not hers, and not mine.

She gave me her number. Lipstick on a piece of cigarette wrapper. Probably just another bookmark. A sweet memory like a faded dream.

Last night, I met the Leopard Queen, and for a brief moment the sea of faces emptied out over the world's edges, into a vast and silent nothing. And she was, and I was, and we were: twin beasts in a garden outside of Time.

We smiled at one another, two sickles reaping an instant of joy.

Then, the lights flashed, the music droned, the swarm buzzed, and I was swallowed up in the sea of faces and drowned in a glass of beer.

© JM Tiffany