The seventh Constance of the universe
The one that pain rules with nevers,
Promises and quakes of nothing diverse
The one that remains the same
Who lets everyone else play the game?
It is a constellation clustered with shame
Torn and full of ambiguity
Never knowing what’s next in its purity
Kill me rape me and never befriend me
There’s nothing left in the Constance
She is born she lives remaining in the distance
She is the void of ambivalence
That swallows the many things wanted
The successes lost and time daunted
Like ghosts in the reverie haunted
Through the nights and days left behind
Hung upon ropes to dry out of sight out of mind
Into the dark damp and chains that bind
My prison in mind could be sultry
The emotional Constance becomes tawdry
And the body turns against us angry
It is what it is and we run against the wind
As the kings queens and jokers against us grinned
While the rest tantrum and have us against mast pinned
We have a flare for the debauchery of nothing in the void
Constance II
From the dark antiseptic room
He wanders
Smoky alley dungeons
Square cold room he left
For the comfort of his kind
But they were beasts like all the rest
Steel cold rooms stainless
Clean as a knife as cold
Lay you there sleeping
Without shiver
Without your nipples reaching
Without breath
Take one deep
Breath
Now,
Let it go feel it all
And return to that state
Of the cold room
Where you don’t shiver
You are not hungry
You don’t dream
Your nightmare
Constance you scream scare
Constants you grip and tear
Constance into her pieces scarce
Tie dyed dead red to black
Bite the scream
In your throat
Constance
Tear up that constellation rare
And have them run


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