Like Caligula's Whore

I stand naked before you in a cacophonous wind 
beaten and bare like Caligula's whore used and discarded
 bruises of your pleasure still fresh upon my mind. 
My breath ragged and cold
whispered pleas for release
heard only by the ancient behemoths 
of pain and agony
that sway and dance in the abysmal mists
with the spirits of the broken and shattered
at the edge of this realm of insanity.
My words now deemed aprocryphal
lips sealed by the thorns of abhorence
eyes cast to the moldering ground
gazing deep in the miasma gathering there 
growing steadily beneath your blind eye
as you drink the tattered remnants of my soul
from a chalice of cold silver and disregard.
Circa 2003 ish