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when the dark comes down.

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THE LAST SUPPER

by Max Goth

Napkin to lips, again and again,

white silk crumpling into sweaty palms.

“Pardon me, I must—“

The bathroom mirror betrays the mask's edge.

While beneath the surface, a pressure is building.

I straighten, smooth my tie.

“Please, God. Not now.”

Heartbeat echoing through the shadowed hall.

Silver and crystal catching lamplight,

casts faceted refractions like embers on mahogany.

My chair scrapes softly as I settle back in.

Their smiling laughter surrounds me,

floating on the rosemary perfumed air

to fill the room like champagne bubbles,

effervescent and meaningless.

I feel it surge inside me still, viscous and hot,

up into my belly; a seeping darkness

that threatens to stain the imported linen cloth.

“Excuse me, just a moment—“

Between exquisite courses I press fingertips

to temples, to throat, to wrists, checking the seals,

the places where it might break through.

My soup spoon shakes,

rippling reflections of the chandelier.

"The market's looking up," they say,

“Jenny is starting violin—"

I’m mapping the exits, measuring my steps

to the nearest drain, the nearest sink

where I might let a little bit weep out

without anyone hearing the hissing splash.

"Are you quite well?" they ask,

as I return for the seventh time,

collar damp, desperate now to contain

this swelling black pitch

that laps corrosively against my ribcage.

I smile, nod, take small bites

of perfectly caramelized tarte tartin,

knowing that one wrong word,

one crack in the straining veneer

could burst the infernal dam

and flood this gleaming room with tar.

So I sit, and sip, and dab;

a time bomb made flesh

at their glittering table,

praying no one notices

the cloying scent of my decay.

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stay with me.

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apartment 9-18

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midnight mass

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are you invisible?

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I don’t normally reblog posts but, there’s something about this that I… I’ve got to keep with me.

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“all great and precious things are lonely.”

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