Castrato Sings the BluesA Poem by NightShade
Castration is the eunuch sensation of being cut off from temptation...
Meandering after a fevered day of abuse.
Pining appetites of solitary crowded conditions.
I wandered toward personal walls of confinement.
A cockroach of culture in a sick-bag of degradation.
The tingles of unfulfillment aching.
Sordid phantasms of youthful bliss stole caution.
She rose enormous.
Emerging from that wicked lair of filth.
Reeking of putrescence born of vaporous intoxication, liquefied crystal and savage penetrations by pearl divers in the dumpster of frosted, moldy donuts.
Striking was her ravaged, sable skin, eggshell curly locks and pendulous mounds that swayed like grandfather clocks with each sauntering step.
"Are you lonely? Would you like some company sweety?"
She, the matron of three generations spoke with the dulcet tones of the dying.
Her genetic, skintight cesspool jumpsuit glistened greasily as clam flavoured digits probed suggestively, her bleu-cheese taco-
-Flesh oranges shriveled icily at a glancing touch-
Nominal sums for various acts of damnation spewed from blood-milk stained lips.
Strangely titillated, yet not tantalized, I listened transfixed by the grandmother of insalubrious sins--Mental aberrations trickled through-- Amygdala engaged to trepidation and... Disgust? Desire? Pity? Loathing? Horror?
Sibilant speech floated eerily through a toothless maw; promising Lolita delights in a sarcophagus...
Curiosity raged for answers to questions that one dares not ask--You know when the milk is sour but you just gotta smell it? I knew not to taste this maggoty fare but asked the advantage...
The answer stung me; sending me speeding toward blessedly safe information images of sweets to drown the acerbic knowledge from a thought corrupted palate.
My jacket said "Members Only" and mine was the only lonely of a secretly sick cabal. So I unleash the punishments of Hell on it on it but cannot remove the Infernal Incantation that usurps desire...
No release to be reached.
Nor tender velvet Paradise tasted in this hormonal Epoch of Ends.
So, razor in hand, I cut myself off from temptation--A Eunuch experience.
Salvation from the Words of Nightmare Paradox:
"Fo Figh Dollah mo, you kin do yo bidnit in mah mout Honey..."
© 2011 NightShade
Shelved in 3 LibrariesAdded on August 27, 2011
Last Updated on August 27, 2011
Los Angeles, CA
AboutRather than go on about myself, I think that I'll just post some of my work and THEN you'll know me a bit better, eh? more..
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