Warfare of the Brain

I knew 2 complete strangers who were very similar to each other

Who’d use the phrase “we’re young gods”. – Halsey

Does your mother still check for monsters under your bed?

Does your father still tuck you under the sheets of your bed?

Desire nips on the brain this Jack-Frosty evening:

To leave the left side – all kept and neat – of your bed.

Beneath the wispy moon, where the dark corners fester,

Love blossoms like black dahlias at the foot of your bed.

Teeth and tongue all tangled in a spit-tight tango

While soft lips soothe fresh flesh wounds at your bed.

Call it a mutual ritual or Friday night dinner,

You swallow the cacophony of his squeals in your bed.

Rush-riding his lollipop-sweet, sweat-candied torso:

Just another tempting, temporary thrill on your bed.

When you finally sink your fangs in his pumping heart,

The climax is already dead, still straddled on your bed.

Only then you realize, life flashing by your glazed eyes,

Only memories’ given-up ghosts remain in your bed.

For there was a time when lively, flighty spirits were

Proud legends…now faded, musky plushies at your bed.

Flaw Fatale: she used to be, no longer, a woman,

But now worse than a god…worse than the man in her bed.