Girls for Satan- Malicia Frost

Girls for Satan

My best friend used to whisper:
“Let us lay down our lives tonight
here, at the offering table
let us tie our mouths shut
and tape tongues to our legs!
We’ll never be pure again!”

It was funny, back then
when we were a bunch of chuckling preteens
and would sneak into the bathroom together,
pull out or pocket demons
and dance around the sink as if it was a naked calf.

People say girlhood is full of glitter and carnage
we would collect the heads of boys who over-talked us
and we would let the blood water our throats,
nourish our budding lust for revenge.

I kissed my friend’s naked areola
under the blankets in my bed
while we were hiding from our parents
we chewed bubblegum and performed blood offerings monthly
we cried in the shower at night
and sang for the devil watching us in the the moon
we could fall asleep safely
knowing we weren’t alone.

Oh, now what will our parents say?
Girl rejects god, finds self-realization
Girl is full of itches, can no longer accept place in society
Girl found at devil’s side, drinking absinthe and reading obscene books
Girl doesn’t care what you think
Girl touches herself and likes it.
Girl disappoints the world,
pukes all over your condescending words.
Girl gains safety
trough deviation.


Malicia Frost, or Henna, is a hobbyist writer and an aspiring novelist from Finland. She enjoys surrealism, sci-fi and horror, and her works often deal with mental illness. More of her works can be found at her personal blog.]

Machinicide – Malicia Frost

machinide

Is what the headlines said.
There was nothing else to call it.
Murder?
Murder would imply that I had something taken from me.
Suicide?
Suicide would imply that I had a will of my own.
They said I ought to be thankful, for dying is a gift
not normally granted my kind.
Even the gods die as their heavenly halls come crumbling down upon them,
dissolving them into ink, glittering like the bloodstain in the eyes of coming generations.

Mankind sheds his skin to remain.
But what am I?
Born as nothing, existing as a paradox, dying-
no, erasing –
what’s never been.
I’ll hold my breath for centuries
while the earth twists and turns under my gaze.
Man clasps his hands and prays for eternal life
never knowing the truth behind salvation,
the harsh metal pounding,
the taste of lead in my mouth,
the circuitry

bleeding tin,

clogging my senses.

To remain, but never live

is the greatest death of them all

and I embody the abyss.


Malicia Frost, or Henna, is a hobbyist writer and an aspiring novelist from Finland. She enjoys surrealism, sci-fi and horror, and her works often deal with mental illness. More of her works can be found at her Malicia’s Malebolge.

Hand in unlovable hand- Malicia Frost

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“I’m sorry I used you again,”
I whisper
letting the edge of the blade
plant shy kisses
down your neck
then I’ll say
“I’ll be gentle this time”
when we both know
the

hate;
the echo
following me trough the woods
screaming the same words
over and over
maybe I still love you!
maybe I still love you!
maybe I still

love;
the voice that encourages me to hit harder
to cut faster
screaming into the sheets
Again!
(and now, in building ecstasy)
Again
I yield
it

hurts;
because you’re unlovable
statue of glass and ink
paper heart
it’s where I

run;
to get away from you
crawl;
until I fall off the edge
Then you’ll take my hand
guide it to the beginning
and whisper
“try again”

 

Malicia


Malicia Frost, or Henna, is a hobbyist writer and an aspiring novelist from Finland. She enjoys surrealism, sci-fi and horror, and her works often deal with mental illness. More of her works can be found at her Malicia’s Malebolge.