Madness danced into the night, and I heard the sound, loud and clear and full upon the wind's lips:

I have been betrayed.

I had pulled back the veil of my witching paranoia and let some wandering passer-by in to see the gypsy lights that tempt the eye, my eyes like milk with hooked fingernails, surveying and thinking. But still, almost unwittingly, I listened to the knocks and bade them enter. And into the ten fold mazes of the forest, where the wisps of higher beings spin along and through sometimes, you each came to court my heart--to find the warden stag and see if it was real.

You are my three. My Hecatae. My Weird Sisters.

Each of you dabbled over me with a unique cant of conversations, of spells and tricks and potions brewed on long summer nights inside the folds of amethyst caves. Each of you are a unique cast of Judas, bound in silk and gold. My smiling angels. My most sycophantic and ragingly obvious saccharine whores. How I listened to each of you and thought how fucking blind you were..how you had missed the point entirely.

I am a human. I shit. I piss. I live alone. I live to serve a power that makes all and no sense. Yet for whatever reason, you each saw fit to gain my trust and then squander it. Worse, you broke with it. And worst of all: you did not tell me.

And on the walls of my head, chained for all to see, you each fester in anonymity:

You, the hermaphrodite, barbed-wire genital beast, the he-she whore of the sullen nights and a thousand blank page stories. You were easily the most convincing. Your words and actions carried you like a ray of light. I believed not only your praise, but the tell-tale awe that accompanied you wherever I happened to be. Never once did you falter, Two-Sexes, like a stiff young cock--sure and hard and steadfast. Your breath is poison and your life is a mockery, shattered mirror pieces of a human-being that reflects nuanced variants of the same lonely person. I say pick up your identity and reform it to what is likely an interesting, if not clever, man.

Now the treason comes to me, and it is plain for all to see. I believed in you.

You, Thatmaturge of Drama, a cloak of thorns about your eyes and tongue, the cloying co-dependent seamstress threading self-deprecation, jabbing the needle up and in for blood confirmation. Immature diabolist. Your sincerity was convincing, your actions likewise. The promises you made for secrets kept could not have been better sung by a gook with TNT strapped to his nuts by some sex-starved American sporting nose necklaces. And equally filled with pathos, those cries were. Your lust is for attention and your mind-cunt betrays what I thought was a reasonable sensibility. What was agreed upon stayed agreed upon. You will never find true edification from another, for that is a journey you must yourself take--and you've the power to do it, even if you will sooner bleed and starve and torture yourself for the simple methods out.

Now the treason comes to me, and it is plain for all to see. I believed in you.

And you, bare-breasted whore of obsidian, the mother of lies so sweet as to ring with truth, yours is the worst of all: a heart black enough to shine white. Into my ears you spoke of love and trust and affection held so deep that it scared you. I was your idealization, the epitome to your ever searching heart; a match. I came to love you despite the alleged madness in your life and the stacatto morse-code that was a consequence of it. We allegedly became one person; we allegedly became committed; you allegedly confessed the world of your heart to me--and I gave you the benefit of the doubt. But your body is a temple to the flies, sagging tits hung wide like thick doors to the sanctuary, your every orifice perfumed with incenses to mask the devil flesh rotting in the shadows. After years of searching, I thought you and your affections were genuine. Now I see you are a whore of trash and false smiles, just like Erin in more than several ways. I was a bauble to you, it seems, and though I never fully trusted you and you did not do your part to hold things together...I am sincerely and deeply disappointed. I thought the world of you and what I saw as someone who had risen above idiocy and rancor and filth to become a genuine human-being, someone I could be with, to cherish, to help you become whomever you wanted to be. You were the most obvious one--but the most painful to recognize.

Now the treason comes to me, and it is plain for all to see. I loved you.

And as the years shall inevitably pass, and each of you shall walk your various paths and smile and enjoy the pleasures that life gives to each of us, and endure the horrors life inflicts to make us stronger--here, always, will be a testament to a person you betrayed.

Here will be a reminder, whenever you see fit to see it with your eyes or your mind.

There is nothing less and nothing more to The Poem of the Three Betrayals. It is done.

(And for everyone, these are matters to be remembered--not discussed. I have not nor ever will talk about intensely personal things concerning others. This poem is no exception)

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