You Had Your Night In Shining Armor, I Had My Monster Under The Bed

What is it about the monsters that makes me [us??] cry for them. When I see a movie I do not plaudit for the dragon slayer, but the dragon. It is not the hero I want to see at the end – covered in blood and gore from a job well done – but the werewolf. It is not the slayer I hold my breath for, it’s Dracula.

I was nine when I had my first crush. He was tall, dark and handsome. He was Dracula in the ’92 version of Bram Stoker’s. Seeing him left me breathless and at the end my heart truly ached at his peril. I connected more with the monster than any other character.

Still evident today in which characters I love from even the most mundane of shows. House and Cartman –who you only love because you hate– I love for very different reasons. I want to BE them. In ancient times I would kill them and consume their flesh to invoke their attributes within myself. They’re an addiction—strange, bizarre and fascinating. Like the two-headed cow you can’t help but stare at. Only, where the masses generally find themselves a little sickened and/or horrified, I can only proclaim desire and interest.

I would merrily frolic into the night of Stephen King’s werewolves and gladly plunge into the maw of the maddened creature if only for that brief encounter. Most would urinate in fear, with confusion I believe my reaction to be far different.

LUST

The breath that the masses hold in fear for being found, I find myself bursting with anticipation. Secretly counting the seconds until the cold claws tightly grasp my arms and shoulders before plunging into ferocity. The toxic giddy-up causing your heart to burst full of adrenaline at the need-to-flee fills mine with wanton desire.

Perhaps this has filtered thoroughly into every fiber of my being; because I find myself carrying a great disdain for the masses. Not all of the normals, just a majority. Secretly I’m combing through them to find the dark star shining within.

I rage harshly and fiercely and love just as passionately. I want that in return. The monsters have it. We are kin and I am wanting to be ravaged. I want to combust beneath you. “Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave.”

The trick to monsters is you have to be as eager to consume them as they are to consume you.

I am ready.

And I am hungry.

Come out, come out, wherever you are…

clapping; bravo, hallelujah, hosanna; acclaim, accolade, citation, commendation, compliment, encomium, eulogy, homage, paean, panegyric, salutation, tribute

acclamation, cheering, cheers, ovation, plaudit(s), rave(s)

Some Secret Sin Crept Upon My Lips And Unwittingly I Uttered The Utterly Reprehensible…

I raged silent against a violent world. All of it sticky remorse and translucent pain. So unsure and yet secure and well aware. My heart picks up a notch. The slightly unnoticeable flush betraying the giddy up of a rhythmic enthused muscle. A light in the eyes evinces and undermines the rest. Marbled body- cold, unyielding steel mimicry. Vampiric ancient a statued self but somewhere within blood rushes. Hot pooled seduction rushing through cable systems working a little too efficiently.

You only smile at them. I’m screaming – quiet, quiet, shh – and the silence of it fills volumes. A polite grimace is all I’m bequeathed but I snatch. Child of Ethiopia with a steak. The slightest hint of recognition and nuclear reaction causes this cold star to burn hot. Chameleon black to vivid red.

Burn with a yearning futile as a child building a tower to heaven. Tears like acid carve hot trails along marble — canyons in wake. I’m only breathing to see if you notice. Curious. Hurt. Wanting. Hating, loathing, impeaching every notion. I see you look at them, watch them, converse with them, touch them, smell them. Green eyes veiled, still as prey. Angst climbs tendons like electric charging batteries. Frozen in the instant–beg for an ending far away as Armageddon. I’m lost in my own iron tranquility and my silver tongue slit my throat long ago. Soft sighs mock the cries I make that cannot escape my python throat.

Velvet lashes flick liquid diamonds swiftly from traitorous doorways. Hard to breath in the vice grip of self control but I’ve learned naught else. I’m bursting expanding rushing racing to fill all directions. Thundering madness out and away, anywhere but here. I can’t bear to move –to leave–

Silent fingers grip like springs wound tight, steel twisted–clenching vicious. Clutch it, huddle closer. Pain swirls and encircles and strangles that bastard that keeps beating after long requited silence.

How do you fix what you can’t change. I regret not being what you want. I regret not being what you need. I regret being here. I regret – being. And I huddle in awe and fear, pain is sweet lust and I let it linger while your near. You’re palpable as I ache starvation.

I stumble unable to convey the idea so simple its infinitely complex. Light candles to your memory even as I make plans to see you on the marrow. Plans you’ll never know about because you’ll never notice me beyond the passing glance. A gift I’ll cherish even as you regret descending your gaze upon me. Odd scents promulgate the burning flesh as I caress the flame lost in imagery vivid with you. Red poppy among the sea of clover. I’m [grasping, grabbing, rushing] for the safety while eagerly falling into your desire.

A rush to open that red door only to find the light within marks the emptiness of time and space without some semblance of you. Violent angry rush boldly streaks black upon it. Bury the desire– a betrayal of myself.

I will never have you because I can never be what you desire and I’ve nothing left. How stranglely hollow filled with your emptiness. Awe struck and breathless.

Wishing an eternity of this.

Can You Feel Me Dying?

Perhaps it’s the Rains; but I feel Ancient.

weathered.

worn.

The sunlight is distilled here. -- washed tainted muted pastel -- Devoid of warmth, the bright spots are chilling as the first frost.

I am Tired. Exhausted.

understatement of the year

Driftwood.

Mayhaps vanity, the sick clock ticks somewhere deep inside. Evidence of existence in solitaire. Alone. Unwanted. Washed.
This bright day is cold
And I'm left Alone
Pondering. . .

To Whom It May Concern;
The Hours have grown long
Razor and I had a conversation
On heartache and time
Seems he fancies a fellow
Astride a white horse
Elusive
My confessions flow ice cold from devil's lips
Shadowed whispers
In hallowed halls
Maybe I'll marry him

suicide

We could live together

beneath the hard packed earth

Forever
Razor sighed to hear it
A proposal to the end of our torrid love affair
Who would notice?
Who would care?

The silence held no answer