This face seemed to look like a rock,

These eyes held you,

These fingers found you every time,

You and that little blackened heart,

You and your deep, cold, ocean of pain,

You and the taste of me that drives you closer and closer,

So near

yet so far away.

 In this scrying mirror we see the twenty facets of you

That will grow out of us,

The parts that some call demon,

The parts that some call angels,

The parts that come from us;

The faces that make the Genii of the gateways tremble

In the darker dimensions of Hell.

Finally, in this dress of tatters, of cobwebs,

Of the vain attempts,

The tries in vein of you thinking and acting like what you think seems

a reasonable man,

A man you’ll never be,

Not even the adolescent boys you emulate.

It’s the woman you always remain,

For the man I always am,

The man you will fuck and love, and fuck.