Darkest Fantasy

You hid behind a wall of bones - jagged pale promises
unkept, and filthy secrets so unswept, as you -
but I knew you were there, bejeweled daggers of
idiocy slicing through and 'tween your knuckles
I saw beneath the ugly lines of black on your face
of ink that's never gone and salt that never always
stings

'You can not know what there is to know, your meager
rings of youth,' you said. 'You try to not try to lie to not
lie.'

Your lips, so cracked and barren, never parted to let
your rows of tiny perfect teeth be exposed to the
bleaching, leeching light or the mag-worms-mag-gots
dark

But when they did a nightmare slipped out, floating
fleeting dreamily gray and silkily transparent, a net
of secret hopes of gone and {fantasies} not {fantasies}
and it wrapped about me and myself, and bound me to my
body

'Bite into that succulent fruit and cry to try, and let it
sink into your teeth,' you said. 'Until the raw juices drip
down to your chin and soak into your skin and your flesh
sings.'

I tried, do you know, not to cry, do you see, but it
kept on wrapping around my throat and constricting me,
like a snake with a cloud between its harping fangs that
shriek so loud and so long, until I knew I was just a fish
writhing on its soiled and soil grave with mud penetrating
helplessly

The nightmare was a prison, a game, an imprisoning game
a poison, a scream, a poisonous un-scream that un-defies
and un-defiles everything it comes across: the un-nightmare
{fantasy}

'You have the key, clutched in your hand, and it's waiting
to be hoped,' you said. 'So hope it, harp it, and don't
rejoice.'

Yet when I looked there was no key, no answers to the
race of rats, crawling rodents whimpering thus and screaming
thus, their shrill cries were mine and I grabbed at those, snatched
at those, until I possessed them wholly and they were utterly
mine

I couldn't succeed because it wasn't meant to be, or was it, maybe
half-way-indeed, and the slashing lines grew darker upon your
sinking face, so you threw to me a scarecrow, tall and dark and
lean

I clasped it tightly to myself, the riches only wisps of downy
feathers, and pressed my face against its expressionless
featureless one, for beauty is ugly and ugly is grief, as black
and cold as unleashed, unbound cruelty on a frame, the heartless
birds

'Do you know what I am?' you asked. 'Do you see how I
am?'

I slowly raised my gaze and nodded, blazing red on black and blue
no words could shape without the clay of truth and lies, for then I knew
You are a {fantasy}.