What is the core that I suffocate myself to mimic?

If I was a child kicking in the sheets

From a dream,

When I consumed Freud.

Black tar and spring coagulate like

The cane of an old man,

Crafted by some desperate, willing maiden.

Big mouth gaping, I don’t know

What a succubus is.

The core has raised my jaw to 

Clench.

Your fangs are alogia but I have a 

Moon in my mouth!

A stench.

Shit under leaves are the mounds

Of my love.

And I come in fringes to desicate

The urges that I love to shove.

A call sweetly forbid, in vaults I

Slowly play what I shed.

Dark fantasy music welcomes you in

To the House Without Clocks

Renaissance venusian sex magic

Your sin, baby white serpent, come and take it.