Hear my haunting in your darkest place,
Your entire body; packed in earth,
Beings of loneliness crack soft solitude's face,
As my adoration fuels your curse.



It's an ice cold agony you offered that poor thrall and you shall always
trouble my head with such black evils. But ah, my Dark, Brilliant Angel!
Why didn't you take her while her whole heart was on you? What was that
dull metallic ache in your chest that stopped you?

Please, do not play the fool. Have the valour and courage to name the
nameless feeling that insights apprehension and turns your androgenous
face away! Does her succulent skin, m'Night Lover, not seduce you
enough? She was so ready and humming, alive with life's vitality in the
moments before her stark and calculated fall, so much so that it was
bewitching, even to me! Her smooth cheeks were alight with a diamond
teary glitter that would taste so sickly sweet on her blood red, ruby
lips. You'll feel ecstasy only when she couples them with that hot clot
on your so frequently severed wrist, m'Love. Yet you hesitated.

Did you watch her face fall like pale bloom and dirty grass, Void of my
Heart? Did you urge her limbs to limp while her infected mind screamed
out in her one last soul trial? "MY GOD, MY GOD! DAMN ME NOW! FOR I AM
THE UNDEAD!"



Deny that it is I that knows you best.

Swear that you have truly forgotten me now.

My name is Saige. I am your difficult temptress.
You'll remember me always in heartbeats and your thumbprints.

Remember for me.



Turn her coloured skin to white ivory, and her deep eyes to wild green
emeralds, yet they will always stand as a pale reflection of your own...
Ah, but my own Sombre Soul-mate, how those eyes, your wild green eyes,
so deep and hopelessly lost until they look upon me... How those eyes
will forever kill me.

Sow your prickly seed around her heart but dare not believe you will
ever feel complete, my Dearest Immortal, as it is I alone that knows the
secret that sets your soul free. Let me always be known as your curse
and your eternal ache, Sweet Zillah, for that is how you know me best.
How I wish you had the power the legends ascribe you, and how I yearn
for what once was your free Occultist will, yet here, after so many old
yellow years, I stand with nothing more but names in rust and my
remembering.

And for the glory of the Gods above, please help me! For my dreams are
filled with grey ashes of his bloodied kisses. Of him! Of my Beloved
Night Angel with tattered wings and bruising breath. Brushing. Hot
against the vulnerable skin of my willing neck for one last fleeting
taste of my life's metallic blood that shall always pulse through his
memory as heartbeats, and lay marked on his skin as his thumbprints. May
my life always and forever be his curse.


-S

Penned by my hand on the 4th of Slyphian, in the year 172 MA.