Poetry

It should make me bleed
It should make me feel uncomfortable in my own skin
It should take me where I don't want to go
Into the darkest corners of obsolete dreams
It should stir the old gods to life
And awaken the slumbering spirit of the race
Spare me your numb sentimentality
And windows into your flaccid memories
Bring forth your demons and their hell fire
Wield your pen like a knife to my throat
And make me feel alive for even a few minutes
Speak to me the words of a new faith
Sing to me forbidden songs of new ceremonies
Invite me into your darkest corners and show me your horrors
Let us barter on the black market of thoughts and ideas
Let us reinvent the myths
Speaking new worlds into being
Let us be gods for a time