A Moment of Weakness (or Dark Womb)

This is another morbid piece, what I did one night several years ago instead of selling my soul or worshipping the Devil or whatever.

 

A moment of Weakness (or Dark Womb)

 

 

A moment of weakness calls out from the depths

To extinguish the candles and put out my fire

Its wind speaks my name with a bitter caress

 

And my flesh is scraped as I writhe and plead
 

My thoughts flash to a life all crimson and violent

Where I am a witch and my mouth whispers “Satan”

 

My veins bleed in worship, as all skin tears

A w***e to the ecstasy of demonic rage

And splendor I crave, at this moment I breathe

 

My soul tainted and rotten, wanting to plummet

My lips want to supplicate to the adversary’s name

 

My frame would bend willingly at his unholy gate

With my cross in hand, I clutch it and pray

 

“God help me!” Why do I want this? I wonder, then weep

For awhile the cloud lifts, a few moments of peace

But the darkness reenters, still I hear not God’s voice

 

Again I want Hell, the ecstasy of Samael, I want to descend

The desires of my would-be Master invade my every pore

 

I feel the need for Satan to pluck out my screaming soul

 For him to rape me upon the Communion table, bleeding

 And underneath the Messiah’s cross to spite Him

 A sacrifice to blast sacrifice in a torrent of blasphemy

 

In my weak and withered state I want to beg for damnation

And still, I sit within a flood of dim light, as I continue

To mutter prayers I only partly want to say, forgive me

But in truth the light remains, I kneel not toward Hell

To worship the Thief’s sinister ways, I write

Instead groaning out my blood in this way, drowning

Releasing the words I could have said to my adversary

 

“Come to me Unholy One and speak to me

Always you are with me, never have I sensed you leave

Come upon me, flood my soul with your words

As God so rarely does

Breathe your cold into me

Pour in your bloody, rancid fire

I’ve long known the touch of your Fallen

The shadowy blistering of their wings on my carcass

As I’ve tried to find my rest they’ve fed on me

I’ve hated you for so long

But fill me with your words and show me

That you hang me still

I want your serpentine scriptures, my Master.

I want the damnation of your eternal death.”
 

 

But I have not descended to the dark womb to speak

Nor will I, yet what would have been the haunting reply?

Still wondering on bleak desires… no wonder I hate myself…

 

 

Reviews

[Kaito Asuke]

that...was amazing...

sadly, while you wrote this poem years ago and not sell your soul to Satan, I did...but that's all in the past now; anyways, it's a really strong piece, with so much emotion. I loved it. Brilliant.

[postscriptheart]

ooooh.....I really enjoyed this.......I was so hoping for evil to win though......that would have been tasty....keep writing luv.