The Gods of the Western World are all vampires.
We sit in our pews and pray to Dracula.
To this chizzled idol of uncorruptable beauty.
That bleeds and bleeds.
That demands that we plead for mercy.
And oh do we make supplication.
Oh do we cry.
From the red sea we are born
In the red sea do we drown and die.
We pray and ponder.
What am I?
What is good?
What is right?
Blinding ourselves to the truth that we are our father's sons.
Ever self-deprecating,
Proud of our decaying polished magnificence.
We are a people perpetually hungry.
But behold!
There is all this plastic and debris in the sea.
We,
The spawn of the devil,
Will survive by any means necessary.
So we sharpen our fangs and grab ourselves a plastic plate.
Devouring the sins of our forefathers,
Grinding our teeth on their bones as we go,
Mumbling our curses and hate.
Until we recognize slowly that in our rushed begrudgery
We didn't realize that mixed in with all the scum was also our progeny.
Soft limbs,
Small faces
Stuck in all the wrong places.
Between forked tongues and burnished teeth.
We open our mouths
Unsure if we did so to laugh or to scream.
God!
Have mercy on me!
A mercy I do not feel.
We tremble under the weight of our sins.
Knowing that deep down within
We relish the pain we are in.
Vampires.
Blood-suckers even to ourselves.
There is no worse than this.
For we are the architects and devourers of hell.
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AN:
Now... At first I really didn't know where I was going with this. Or why I was going with this... 😅
But I am reading Dracula for the first time alright so I was in a mood.
But then I realized that the reason there seems to be an unexpected theme of death in Mosaic is because...
Piecing yourself back together is beautiful and all.
But you're dealing with shards here.
You're gonna cut yourself on the glass from time to time... Maybe even the entire time. 🙃
And I can't shake the reality, brutality or beauty of that within myself.
So here it is... Vampires. 🧛🏾♀️
Rarrrr!.. I guess. 😂😘💕💕
P.S: All my love to my favorite problematic vampire lover-boy in the pic. 😍🤭💞
YOU ARE READING
M O S A I C
PoetryIt's called a crush for a reason. In the aftermath, you're left broken and scattered. Burning, vibrant colors without a gradient. Patterns without shape. But what do you become after you've been crushed? A Mosaic.
