Literature
feast.
Welcome to the famine’s feast, with utensils of silver and shrivelled meats. Ah, without a doubt, you are famished, dear guest, allow us to feed. I am myself, much more than myself, but only myself. And you with silver knives, and porcelain mask, are all you, and me too. But here we are, face to face, my enemy, my friend, a vulture’s feast. You move your lips, I pull mine tight, a locked embrace, or Devil’s chains? Ah sweet allure, you tempt me so, amongst demons and men, we walk in pairs of two. Never too far, never too few. Here we shall feast, to the Devil’s soft tunes.