Don’t be superstitious. I will take away everything you own.
I will pour your blood into coconut shells, for monkeys to drink.
You will recite creeds and anthems you do not believe.
You will be my hostage until your family’s spine breaks into teeth.
You will choose a path of self-destruction versus one that loves me.
Because no one will love me. Not you. Not you. I am too much north.
I am Shakespeare in a pool of vomit, Simic in a pot of artificial flesh.
Your only escape will be learning to levitate out of my hole. I cannot help.
I will cry your eyes until they want release from your head. I bring no joy.
Only gutless sediment where emotions are toys, played with by the elders.