With every drop of ichor spilled, their lungs fill with poison.
Perhaps the reason for our union,
Under the shadow of Mother Lilith,
is the fact that our souls have been plagued with the same fate.
One oracle proclaims sadism, while another praises masochism; yet the outstanding facts ring ever so desperately.
How could I have not seen?
You told me that when the Moon’s synthetic dust latched upon you, it enveloped your soul with an icy kiss.
It had excited a hidden part of you, which you had chosen to lock away.
I commend you for that.
Forced to suppress the basic urges of my human condition, my hands and wrists are crushed beneath the engorged
Tongue of my desires.
I want it, but I am lacking in something: you.
Perhaps what binds us the most is our silver-coated tendency toward the knife. The rope. The drug.
We both wanted to leave before the movie was over.
For when the scorpion welcomed our Mother into its bosom, we found ourselves under the same Black Moon.
When the scorpion stings, our Mother weeps,
Blood drawn from the vice of our matter, Nephilim forsaken and forever fallen.
Our skin bares the same, jagged mark of the insect.
My soul calls for you.
Let me protect you.
My heart craves your presence.
I love you.
Your hands steady me.
You love me, too.
Together, we venture into the Valley of Blood.
For there awaits.