Being an author is like being in charge of your own personal insane asylum. ~Graycie Harmon

Necrophilic Fad

In the tombs far from heaven,
My thoughts go unleavened
For the dead ones who dwell
Wide thoroughfares of hell.

Far from the palaces
Of golden etched chalices,
And stained glass saints
In torporus feints.

I will dig up a corpse,
By whim or by force
And make him my love,
Though his thing is a nub.

He will serve my design,
Be my own valentine,
Be my iconic mage;
Be the talk of the age.

I will channel the words
Of my dried demiurge,
And will crown him, complete
As my dead paraclete.

Sandra Martyres
A macabre but highly imaginative piece...with some great lines -"And stained glass saints In torporus feints".

Susan Jarvis
A fascinating poem that makes the most of unusual words. I adore 'dead paraclete' - one quick glance at the closing line could divert the reader into the realms a Monty Python sketch!

knight4696
A dark look into a strange and macabre love affair. Would this be considered Frankenstein erotica? Lol! :)

Kerry O'Connor
What a fascinating picture you found to compliment this macabre love song.