Siamese

Can you truly look into my eyes
instead of passing me by like I don't exists?

Will you ask who I am
rather than stab me to death
with you bloodied spear of indifference?

But unless you take my hand in your heart,
stop and honestly grope my face
can you ever touch my reality?

For I thrive in two worlds,
one is black and I am its keeper,
a witch who lives in a nun's wardrobe,
who bleeds from her orbs
the tears of a love you'll fear
because all you see is your death in my shadowy caress.

Then too my essence
burns as a light to idols of spiritual gnomes,
speaking in mysteries from pouting lips
to hide my vampire fangs
used to suck you dry of all you are,
when you think you see golden wings
protruding from my veil of halo mirages.

In my voice dwells the anguish of my identity
being too black to taste of heaven
and too bright to sleep in hell.