Give the Ink Time to Dry

               But it is over,—and I have got a new skin,
                         and am as glossy as a snake in its new suit [sic].

should you exist if you believe in my
annihilation? tarnished apples dull
the shine of their wax, since you’ve been picked up
          my back’s been scratched, my peace attacked,

my integrity’s byzantium of
decency sacked, everything filthied
by your lust’s molasses crawl across my
          thoughts, my dynasty savaged, my

canvas ravished, hoof and clause working your
art into my flesh, a pact with you my
ruinous undoing, hell’s gates opened
          by that laugh, babe, you’re an easy

fifteen swimming upstream in a sea of
manufactured tens, among them you’re still
consummate perfection far better men
          abandon their principles for,

a vicious elixir whose stoned-face look
philosophers burn their faith in ancient
books seeking after, you said, ‘give the ink
          time to dry, just relax’, trust me,

if i were living and loving in my
own world you wouldn’t be (t)here, you’d be dust
languishing in my past, a legend on
          the map of my downfall’s path, you’d

be even more useless than an X in
a three-part question or at the end of
an agreement, no part in my being’s
          equation, the salve for the sum

of the sun and our planet burning out
into one conundrum, a wound your mouth
pain(t)s violent, your very presence an
          explosion taxing my sealed fate’s

evasion, sizzling against the current
situation i feel press(ur)ed, a flame
imprisoned, a cancerous melon balled,
          festering without notice in

some swollen stomach a whore fills with pearls
honesty cracks when johns fire them at her,
and when i asked, ‘why is so much darkness
          attracted to my light?’ all you

said was, ‘rules follow me, like i hope you
will tonight’ and i did, wishing nothing
more than to get my self out of your ditch,
          to sp(l)it, and wash off this shit, ‘but

it is over,—and i have got a new
skin, and am as glossy as a snake in
its new suit’, better off without you since
          our undoing shed illusions.

1Lord Byron, letter “[To Thomas Moore]” written at and sent from Pisa on August 27th, 1822, in “[Chapter] 10: Pisa: October 1821–September 1822” of “The Letters and Journals” in Byron’s Letters and Journals: A New Selection: From Leslie a. Marchand’s twelve-volume edition: Edited by Richard Lansdown, published at New York by Oxford University Press in 2015; page 418.