I began to write about melancholy, and I recognised parts of grief and then I saw sex take a shape as I kept writing.
These, in a way, are monsters.
In the end, I've no idea what monster I've incanted.
This is the Greville and the Tombstones song, Monster.
Monster
The stars have no will for me
I’ll not set on the
Moonbeam sea
As long as you lay beneath
Yeah, know this
As long as you are under me
I will struggle to slip
Constantly
Under receding tides
Manifest night, undulating me
It licks, blinds and
Chokes me
The scent of ash and lead
Yeah, you are this
Cut, apply the good lobotomy
Anguish, jagged dread
Leaves me
Under receding tides
Gasper of burning dust
Feeder of the moribund page
Sinkhole of
Atrophy
Black silk of the mind
My fucking destroyer
Delicate monster
Arcing, blossoming electricity
I’ll bide as I shiver
Uncontrollably
At dark storms in a bell-jar
Yeah, I know this
As long as you wrap ‘round me
Bones, flesh, skin will
Choke me
Under receding tides
