The Death in My Eyes

Antisocial capitalism cures the haunted romantic mind.
We hold a window lantern when the night dogs howl
to ward off the spirits
like the Scots,
spirits like love
and people to be loved
because our blood money doesn't buy a family unit
though it was bled straight from the veins of our hearts.

I suppose it's just you and me
buried upon by hot coals
like our souls are matches never seen,
matches only known by function.

Then why don't we just function
and never be looked upon as beauty filled
or sunny filled
in our dark?

Here now, a sea sky drowns our fire out,
we souls of fire yet love the sea.

It can't be that we be made to be obliged,
only werewolves down in a locker of meat
to know no life.

But if I will be heartless, I will be a monster of a capitalist.
I will mix the root of all evil in my latenening coffee,
and I will be a creature of the night.

Dracula the Impaler will see a heart blacker than his spears of destroying.
Because I was betrayed.

You were betrayed.
And our affection for society is to blame.

Now, revel in the hate
in the boiling cauldron,
and those who hurt us will see our names like fireworks in the high breadth of pressurized air.
If unwanted
WE WILL BE REMEMBERED.

And it was Shakespeare that told us whole,

"[B]e thou damned, inexecrable dog,
And for thy life let justice be accused!
Thou almost makest me waver in my faith
To hold opinion with Pythagoras
That souls of animals infuse themselves

Into the trunks of men. Thy currish spirit
Governed a wolf who, hanged for human slaughter,
Even from the gallows did his fell soul fleet,
And whilst thou layest in thy unhallowed dam
Infused itself in thee, for thy desires

Are wolvish, bloody, starved, and ravenous."