Unholy with Eyes like Wolves

by Morgan Dante

The strong eat the weak, and the weak are shamed for it; sometimes, the strong make the weak eat their own.

The terror, the executions, the hatred, the cannibalism, it’s normal. Sometimes, a mother rabbit must eat its young to survive.

if kings and Caesars can be overthrown, so can she.

None of my secrets are mine. None of my shame is mine, yet I must carry it.

I prepare the lady for a world of eyes and teeth.

I can have some pride that I have given this dragon her scales and wings.

Erzsébet, but no saint. I could still worship her.

Perhaps the Tower of Babel’s destruction didn’t only create different languages of speaking; it created different languages of being. No matter what, no matter what I say, I am alien to all others. The loneliest syntax in the world.

Common, what a horrible word for that heartache that I can’t describe in whole, only in pieces.

If one has a chance to kiss an angel, no matter how terrifying, or if you turn to salt or ash, wouldn’t you?

I hope your storms are less than they were yesterday.

There’s little, to the casual observer, to separate medicine and surgery from butchery.

As a girl I felt like a girl, but I’m unsure if I’ve ever felt like a woman.

Even as a devil, I am blessed. More to the point: Perhaps being a devil was Your way of blessing me.

God wants me to be this way, to be a monster brought back like Lazarus. So, why should I brood and lament?

If love is a vineyard, we aren't the vines; we’re the swollen, sensitive grapes.

In five-hundred years, if I exist at all in a line or two in some historical or less than historical texts, it’ll be a shade of what’s gone through my mind, locked to everyone.

Even if I couldn’t be an undead creature, I’ll be a ghost and haunt all of these lickspittle fucks.

I’ve learned that being a monster isn’t the worst thing.

When I don’t know the true language of her grief, just as she doesn’t know mine, just as no one can ever truly understand, an unlonely silence will have to do. Or maybe it’s both of our lonelinesses finding safety in each other.

“I’m not interested in bathing the world red, but I would hope for as long as we live, it might become more just.”