Vines

The night took control like a glitch surging across a power board. I was lost. Fried. Fused. The black swelled around me; the dry breast of a perverted vulture come to devour my corpse. There was a glint to the dark, a twinkling crystal blood to the pulsating onyx organ. It ran through that night unseen by mortal eyes only gazed upon maternally by stars and the Angels that screamed within them. The feathers scorched from their wings long ago they willingly withheld the flame; they found pleasure in the pain - this was both their punishment and their reward. The glitter that seeped through the earth's night was their cum, their tears; their death. Was it my death also? 

The feathers that dissolved from their arching limbs began to prickle at my skin. They teased at first, bath bombs trapped beneath warm steeped limbs. But they grew lustrous and stabbed through me. Needle after needle poked through my skin until the golden wings began to mold. They grew corrosive and stagnant. I jumped for the sky, clawed at its impossible edges. 

But I only fell. Down and down I twisted. My lungs froze in my chest; weeping lashes appeared like desperate piss across unsuspecting snow. My eyes burst within my sockets. The dark exploded across me completely like a proud firework display. My brain stem was the glorious finale that sent my flesh away in a glistening macabre mist. Ooh. Ahh. Then black. Time to go home. 

Where is home now? I have fallen for so long the pain of my destruction is fading, becoming familiar. I welcome the sting. My home is my body, this pain is my lover. I yearn for this death. I crave it. Soon I start to rub against the needles in my skin, scrape and scrape headless thus thoughtless. I carve my begging across my skin; 'more, please'. And I stop falling. The spines calm. 

Then we are rocking rhythmically together, and I am rising like a rouge balloon, shooting into the sky like a Pegasus. Blood is my liquor and my wounds are my masters. I feel heat unlike anything I've ever felt before and as I reach a climax so high that I can not feel the stomach acid pouring from my gashed torso, or the hug of ruby sinew encrusted barbed wire; I shed a tear. 

For I see a man below me being consumed by a twinkling black claw. He smiles his final smile, eyes flash metals of the burnt spoon twitching in his hand. Flecks of red rain down as his pupils blow and he evacuates his bowels. That man is me. I am the angel that seeps onto his grave. The restraints begin to rub again; my body seizes as my cock rises; and I realise only this level of intensity could make the kind stars smile on our dark, dark world.