A poem inspired by The Muse of Cold Earth.
Faust Remembers
Electrocute, the fibers that manipulate the neurons
Limbs, stapled together like the flesh of
Victor’s patchwork demon
I wish blasphemies like this could be infinite like
The heads of the hydra, always splitting off into new wrongs
And worse choices, between somber eucharist of lethe’s empty flavor and late night ragers filled with unapologetic confessions
Damn that fear that keeps Frankenstein from emotalting the divine
The devil detailing the terms of service, magic, locked away in a sad circle.
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