Runes Carved In Flesh

Three poems from The Book of Sin and Shadow

There are some wounds that do not close because they are not meant to. They are meant to speak. Meant to breathe. Meant to ache so exquisitely that the ache itself becomes a language. I write in that language. I carve verse into the skin of the soul until it remembers how to scream again.

The Book of Sin and Shadow is a bleeding grimoire. A map written in bite marks and breath. Each poem is a ritual. Each stanza a blade. Each silence a sermon.

Below are three poems I’ve torn from that altar. If you’ve ever moaned a prayer, or wept at the sound of a voice that once loved you and now doesn’t, you’ll recognize them.

Read. Ache. Share.

Let the algorithms choke on blood and beauty.

Tryst

A confessional of vice, worship, and rot—where ecstasy and regret coil together in the dark like lovers too proud to let go. Tryst is the knife that asks for a kiss.

This is a love poem for the damned. And every one of us is damned in our own delicate way.

Orgasm

Sex magick. Spirit flight. That razor-thin moment when climax tears the soul out of the body and makes a god out of flesh. Orgasm is the sacred seizure that rewrites your nervous system with a single name moaned into void.

This is not metaphor. This is sorcery through skin, a spell sealed in blood and salt.

Alkaline

A chemical hymn. Lust without love, but not without ritual. A rite of detonation between the sacred and the synthetic. Alkaline is what happens when scripture is read with trembling fingers between someone’s thighs.

Short. Sharp. Sizzling.

Tryst

---------

Have you not found solace

In the sharpness of your knife?

Is there not some beauty

In the dead eyes of the blind?

Each wound that's deep enough to feel

Leaves runic scars divine

That long outlive our mortal flesh

And our decaying minds.

We sing a song of pain and loss,

The Symphony of Life;

And crave it like the yearnings

Of a beaten, loving wife.

I know the cost to play the game;

For you I'd pay it twice,

And at the reckoning when judged

For being so enticed,

I'll pour my sins into a cup

And ask God for some ice.

Never have I felt regret

For giving in to vice,

Only for the dreams I've lost

By trying to be right.

It's not until the sun has died

That other stars seem bright;

Both black and white eternally

Will rob us of our sight.

Come join me in the shadows, Love,

The softness of the night;

We will scream each other's names

And hold each other tight...

One day I'll die alone and cry

Your name up to the sky,

And grasp with empty, clawing hands

For something I can't find.

Orgasm

------------

You open your mouth,

Moaning my

Name in whispers divine. The most

Sublime flash of life rushes past your

Face mouth open to

Taste it heart pounding like

Bass hits and the

Whole world's held in

Eternal stasis

For one smooth second.

Reality beckons, but

I'm farther still than it reckoned. One

More kiss on the neck and I'm

Lost, mind

Leaving my body,

Body leaving my soul;

Perception breaks free of my

Feeble control.

I'm looking down on my soul. The

Pull of the

Pleasure has

Severed me;

I'll never be whole.

With a gasp, please

Please please please

Please beg for

Collapse.

Fingernails bloody, attacking my back.

Back arched to the sky.

Shuddering stuttering screaming and blind...

And then longingly, longingly, ghosts of it

Glide back out to

The ether,

Dreams whisping

Behind,

And the moment DOES end;

Passes by and it dies.

Still, eternal it is, Love,

That wasn't a lie;

To the end of my moments

It lives in your eyes.

Alkaline

—----------

She entered, static electricity,

a sharp taste on the tongue,

copper and citrus.

Crackling silence.

He touched her like scripture,

feverish,

already forgetting the names

of his gods.

Her thighs pressed confession

from his lips;

her scent,

lavender, sweat, gasoline.

He begged to be emptied.

She smiled.

It wasn't love,

just chemistry

burning slow

and alkaline.

These three are just fragments. The book itself holds spells in verse, bled in trance, carved in shadow, kissed with poison. It begins with The Whispered Oath. It ends with When We Were Young. Everything between is fire.

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Myrkraðr

Poet. Priest. Predator.