This poem was inspired by a spur of the moment decision to process breaking free of emotional vampirism and psychological manipulation. If you have ever been a victim of these things, then you will understand what I’ve written.
Read while listening:
This gossamer thread of yours is but a flimsy attempt
To ensnare me back into your venomous web
O’ that most bitterest of poison! That most corrosive dread!
How might I convey such truths to so twisted a head?
My blood is no longer yours to ensure you are fed
For I no longer walk down that dark, twisted path of the dead
That one which you reveled, drinking my self destructive wrath
Those green orbs gleaming with a rheum of grim satisfaction
I ask, why was it I who must curdle underneath
That mean shade of your own self hatred?
Which shall never be abated nor satiated?
Say what you will evermore…Yet, still— I must implore!
Search deep within that ruinous well and recognize
That your web of gossamer lies, shall never be truly baptized
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If you enjoyed this gothic poem, check out some of my other ones:
“My blood is no longer yours to ensure you are fed” is my absolute favorite.
I don't usually read poetry, but I liked the elegantly brute strength of the words here.