Because It's Everything

And I might be beautiful if it weren’t for all these scars. This rot ridden soul. Putrid and hateful.
No matter how deep the razor goes it just can’t reach what’s wrong. Because it’s everything. Every breath, beat, lash, cell. Every day, hour, moment. Curling out, up, in.

The only way to get out is to break out for good. Break down. Decay. Big bright red Cheshire grin. Sloppy jagged hunks of flesh sickeningly remindful of teeth gushing crimson vomit. And it’s all tumbling out now.
Worthless
Wasteful
Wicked
Wrong
Wrong
Wrong
And if you ever did anything right they might love you.
If you cease. Cease to be. Think.

And if you could, please, just be a little less you. However, it really doesn’t seem to be worth my time, so why don’t you just continue on.

While you’re busy championing Jonathan Harker, I’m mourning Dracula.
And who is there to hold me while I lose control?
Who is there to ease the pain of loss?
Who is there to ease the heartache?
Who is there to tell me the sun will set and night will return once more?


Maybe they would be,
If you weren’t a Monster.

But then who would you be?

Bitter Hibernation

Twilight was silent. Seeming fit to burst with some token, some mote of wisdom to provide what little comfort was available. It, however, was crushed beneath the cacophonous silence.

Wearily she lay, staring through the verdant forest. The ferns, trees, the soil, the marching insects. The mind is alive with a thousand thoughts - but not now. Not this time. There is only the nothingness. The hollow ache. As if the body was a vein stripped of all it's glittering pieces. There was the endless expanse of time stretched out before her. How long had she been here. How long had twilight been hovering. Were there others? The hard packed earth was rich and soft beneath her, long since ingraining itself into her hair, bits of it clung furtively. Dust to dust, and it was intent upon pulling her back in. Her muscles had long since given up the fight to pull her out of the huddled mass she lay in. Had the fingers against her lips or the ones crushed beneath her belly gone numb first?

Piercing her to the forest floor, the agonizing lance burned its way into her spine. She was sure the scream ricocheting through her cranium had been physically uttered, yet the forest wielded no echo. The blinding white light split her skull apart, subsiding to the muscles being rent apart in her calf.

And suddenly the pain was pinging from one cell to the next. It was then the acid carved it's way down her face. Of it's own free will, she stared from her back into the canopy. Shuddering from the effort and wracking sobs. It was the rain, violently cold and furiously falling. Heaven crying to pushstart the body without the will to do so.

Every muscle was alive and hungry now. Awakened from it's bitter hibernation most hastily. Clutching and clinging to itself it cried. And in her mind there was only the acrid wasteland. Only wind and cracked, dead land for miles. Yet she wasn't alone. There was that one. Hovering over her. Unrelenting, however, undemanding. Seeming content to just be there. Voicing no queries, no motive, no comfort. Nothing.

The forest moved. And suddenly she was staring out again. It was then she noticed the curled claw of a hand clutching the wet earth. Sliding over it as the legs behind her pushed. Content to watch the dragging, she huddled into herself observing until she was lost to unconsciousness.

When One Monster Slaughters Another ― Is It An Act Of Murder Or Salvation?

Roving ashen lands, mortified forests, inert pools. Pushing onward, monotonously; surging, stumbling, rushing. Incessant the ambulation to obliterate the anamnesis. Reminiscence of recollections of reflections of memories. Escaping from what? to what? for what? What?

The monsters grow agitated, the demons restive, and annihilation is riveted in the gaze the observation. Crushed underfoot, trampled, mangled, vanquished, ruptured, shambling scintillas of something long forsaken. Integuments of eidola of reveries of wishes vanished antecedent. relinquished deserted obscured Absent the horror, the anguish, the mirth, the aspiration, the chiroptera, the coleoptera, the serpents.

Is a cavern still a cavern when it is desolate - Or is it nothing more than a chasm?

The tranquil complacency in the peregrination is sufficient to succor that ache within. Vaguely devastating when dwelled upon, but evanescent is the thought entertained before the instinct to unknow is reclaimed. The erratic cadence of the atrium discounted. The gait incremental. What ignes fatui that evince wayfarers to their expiration capitulate and venture to beguile. Entice. Inveigle.

Verdant the meadow. The eruption of hues addling; quailing, traipsing the periphery of the expanse. The clement cachinnation disseminates tremors through that vagrant malaise and the quavering of the auricle are lissomely buffeted. Be afraid. Sidle into the grasses. Contiguous is perfection. He smiles and that quaver is back. Endeavor, infiltrate the unfurled limbs primed to enfold. Defunct within the embrace, stationary and taciturn. Compliant winnowing. The sneer on his face and the neoteric effulgence in his eyes has that muscle hammering. Assimilate the javelin as it perforates sternum, atrium, glissades parallel vertebrae.

This might hurt if you could remember how pain felt.

You might be shocked if you had not known this was coming.

Thrust into the heavens, it is the paralyzing cynosure of the stars that astounds you into lacrimation.

When one monster slaughters another ― is it an act of murder or salvation?

What Dreams May Come

I am waiting for you. I see you just there. I want you so much it is killing me. But I would rather die this death than be without you. Do you see me the way that I see you? And are you so very far away that you do not come to me now? I will still be waiting when you get here. My breath is too great for my chest, costae straining to contain what atmosphere the pneumos can absorb as my heart swells. I’m burning, I’m breaking, I’m waiting for you.

I will wait forever.

In waking I can still feel the warm press of your body crushing down upon mine. In the crowded room where we osculate there is only the muted thunder, cacophony in miniscule. All of my focus on you, in you. I incense you; inhale you – you are etched upon my mind more intense than my best recollections; a supernova sunset. In waking I breathe and scent you in the air, my frantic frenetic searching otiosely. I can taste you still upon my labium, strong and supple the press of your superioris upon mine.

I am still perambulating those amplitudes on your flesh when corporeality crowds in, overbearing and callous. Consciousness is the bitch thieving you away. The ache of it is breaking my heart, even in this moment centuries pass and I die in muted silence – how bitter sweet the pain. But silently in the early mornings I am stealing myself back to you, because it is there you are waiting for me. I want to trace my life upon your syncytium, burn it to ash and blow it away on a bitter sea wind before giving you mine.

It’s your eyes, burnished and blackened honey – soul consuming. We do not need to articulate. You do not need to move as I am already crashing into you the instant those umber orbs find mine supernova of hypergiants. Everything laid open and bare, there is no fear – only the need to touch, those epochs when not even flesh has caressed and all is only body heat and nearness Einstein makes theories on in thinking rooms far away from here and now…

My moon will rise and set within you and that is all that I will ever need.

I’m waiting for you.

All Of It's Futile You Know

She would prepare everything. Or rather she had, at least mostly. Gathering the collective tools, random items more befitting a [medical examiner] [butcher] [mortician]; the stainless steel shimmered softly – with that soft wire scrub sheen so many medical trays cloned. Laying out the tarpaulin, and cocking her head softly to the side she found beauty in it. Clenching her jaw and blinking furiously to blot out the seas which burned with acid fire in her eyes, that’s the problem, she whispered; more to herself than to the man.

Or was he a boy?

She hadn’t decided.

She always found the beauty in everything. Even in her own wretched pain, the festering rot coiling within her soul – that lancing burn that sometimes blocked out EVERYTHING, even the ability to breathe… Sighing, like the earth after genocidal tidal waves vain efforts at a message no one wants to hear, she smoothed the last of the semi-translucent petrol. Head bent, her gaze was lost - seeing beyond the staccato tile floor - futile endeavors to salvage memories she felt she needed.

What she really needed was hope - but that was far beyond her now.

She turned her gaze back to the center of the room, the frigid cadaver table - stark and brutal even as it lacked quick edges or gothic décor. To the organism breathing, those shallow inhalations only the comatose or deeply drugged do. The conflagration smoldered her extremities, they twitched as though acid had pooled at the tips; aching itch – the need to touch.

No thoughts had formed or time had passed it seemed, INSTANTLY she was beside him; bent and leaning slightly over him and watching, the way hazmat crews observed CHERNOBYL or HIROSHIMA – with that morbid enthrallment engrossing every iota of their being. Lighting gently upon his clavicle, her forefinger hummed with the soft heat his body gave, tracing over the ridge the ice eased softly from that INTREPID digit. Oxygen optional, her breath froze as slowly she traced along the length of brachiating bone and curling, the way cars curve around long highways doubling back along themselves, up and along the throat, climbing the soft hill of the sternomastoid in soft ascension of the mandible and tracing downward. Ceding upon his lips, orbs lidded she breathed, crawling along the stillness that had consumed her. Pulling away so that her distals grazed his face, she stood.

He hadn’t moved, and in many respects appeared DEAD. But he was alive; she NEEDED him to be alive. Shoving the needle into the carotid, the thrum of his heart’s song traveling in gentle permeation through the metal and plastic of the hypodermic, sweeping upwards into the chilling phalanges – she paused. Pressing in bitter vehemence with prehensile, the serum vacated its holding cell; finding a new journey within that sanguine causeway.

Hoisting the weighted surgeon’s apron over her head, she admired the thick slickness of it; the matte black almost absorbing light, as though it were destined for this and was ready nigh eager to soak the claret sprays into itself. Turning to behold him, the char pigmented vinyl gloves slid across the steel tray, ushering a sadistic whisper into the silence this place had claimed. The fluttering of his lids told her he was waking, as did the change in his respiration. Sharp and swift, the inhalation devouring as much atmosphere as possible; awareness surged culminating in the rapid flick to open those soulful windows. Pulling those void gauntlets over her writhing digits, he saw her and remembrance and recognition blazed like stars in those windows. Grasping the hacksaw she sighed and looked at him directly, gazes locking.

You’re beautiful.

But that just isn’t enough.

Claret Mire

Randomly running through some vivid night, the stars will burn linear in confusion and pain. Thick the clawed branches of trees vicious as those frenemies having snuck up in front of you – those sheep in wolves clothing. Mild tempered curs, static; and everyone knows static equivocates death. Thorns and thistles, scattered and strewn over wild grounds amidst the scratching vegetation pierce and shred; leaving sanguine trail. Blood burned away long ago and those vessels fill with the acid that drives. Pumping, life’s drum beats a broken song. And the seas those windows leak could drown worlds in wake. Ripping through foliage, which grabs and clutches silken tresses abandoned in the urgency of need to be away.

Forest gives way to ruins, demolished and torched. Thoughtlessly carried on appendages bruised and numb with frost, moved by wires pulsing electricity from a generator on automatic pilot. Through arching doorways into shadowed realms, over smooth granite dark as void roped with argentate slices – silver veins in the ebon coat of dying wolves. Echoing slaps ring throughout chorused with gentle snapping, tattered garb mockingly white.

Stumble as earth gives way, like those reeds when the wind is high from the Hunt. The crimson stain climbing those pale threads perplexes, pushing on to wade through this claret mire. Plunging deeper as the ruby morass coats, surging up gullet, covering shoulders and clinging to mane. Some rubicund sand trap, dragging down.

How many can boast of drowning within blood marshes?

I Miss The Moon

She ran hard and fast. Ran on through the grasses, thundering between trees and bursting through bushes in a fury of twigs and leaves. Her wolfskin was hard upon her and that itself made her heart ache, pained and weary with recent events. Foolish she had been, and yet was there ever a time when she was anything but a fool? The miles passed swiftly beneath her feet. Pounding through dead leaves, dank rich earth thick with the scent of vegetations decay; over rocks and pebbles crushing into brisk waters flowing with their angry torrents – grasping grabbing so eagerly for her. She wanted to let go and embrace its caress deep into its raging rocky depths, but the anger and pain burned high in her and she galloped on. Running into the night as though she could catch the moon, so close and still so far; nearly hiding in its new skin. She wanted to hate them, those silly things with their exemplar ideals; such farces and still so embraced. Naive sheep with their stories of how the hero defeats the boogieman, the big bad nasty thing.

They had come with their silver, ignorant and full of fear. Immunity was hers through chance and accident; and what a charade to think it might kill her, that maybe if she just let enough sink down into her it would work its toxic will and bind her to death. She howled the anguish. She envied them with their ignorance to believe that everything was better when you hunted down the monster; how can that be when you are the monster? And she ran ran until everything was burned away by the sheer need and will to run; ran until there was no more fear or rage or pain. She ran until forever passed beneath her feet.

A Girl Can Dream

I’m choking down those ashes again. Maybe I wouldn’t be so eager to shovel mounds into my serrated gob if only I could remember the taste of something else. I know I am missing something and it’s so close I can feel the weight of it crushing down upon me. I cram another handful and suck it down.

If you could crawl inside the windows, past the blue glass and peer down further into the ebon depths hidden, fold of a world. Press yourself against those frightening crags and move further down. Coming out of the darkness the light would blind and illuminate with such coldness that frigid still and smothered hangs the air. Wander down any path and the evidence of decay is heavy and thick. Remnants of a long forgotten glory smite the shite stained surface. This place has been dying for so long it doesn’t remember what life was. Hope is the white horse dying in the open court, eight shades of diseased emerald. The blood, however, is bright. Death imminent vivid in a washed out existence.

You could storm the creature without so much as a flinch. The eyes are dull and sticky, flecked with black dirt. Mayhaps death has already come and gone, but the rattling breath and consistent gush of blood communicate what is left of life in this being. Maybe it doesn’t know how to become dead, thus imprisoned in an endless state of dying. That could be one of your childish notions, easily waved away by the harsh stamp of adulthood, if only the horror of it was not so palpable. And as it consumes you, the realization that the entire world has been in this state long enough to see old gods overthrown while new ones were erected hits you like the moon crashing into earth. The vomit is hot and sticky on the back of your hands before you comprehend what has happened.

Your breath ragged the arctic air harsh in the back of your throat and you keep sucking it down – waiting for your heart to cease its frantic pounding, your head to cease its dizzy spinning, your eyes to blink back into focus. As this happens you feel it, the dread sensation of foreign eyes intense upon you, crawling – prickly sticky, like roaches – your stomach entangled and stone, your eyes follow the invisible path back to the voyeur. The white horse is watching you with those lifeless fish eyes and the echo startles you into actuality before your body has time to tell your mind that you’ve finished screaming. The world is blurring past you before you comprehend you are running, you gulp harder at the air willing your lungs to fill to bursting so you can run. Run run RUN RUN RUN RUN. The word is every breath, thought, sensation of movement, gush of blood from your heart; your body is screaming it so loud you’ve lost the feeling of movement and all you see is a world smearing past you faster and faster.

The pain is neon red, lancing through your arms and head. Panting rigid and callous, you are coughing before you notice you’re crying so hard you can’t breathe. You gulp down the air between sobs; sweet, cool and laden with soft hints of life collapsing to the ground you revel in the texture of the grass – the supple warmth and tangy scent as your weight crushes it. You stumble home; grateful for the mild chill the breeze conjures, eliciting goose bumps upon your flesh. Climbing the steps you’ve almost forgotten what you just witnessed, as you shut the door that eerie dread fills you; at the time it was so insignificant you had overlooked it, but now it is staring you down. That place held no sound; even the rattle of Hope was silent, only noticed in the series of bubbles in the bloody froth.

Your stomach churns but you try to disregard as you twist the knob and water rages downward sending a cloud of steam into your face, the adjustment and stripping are done in a haze. One foot follows the other into the glorious cascade that’s easing a chill out of your soul you didn’t conceive being there, and tragedy strikes as you’ve closed the glass door and managed to catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. It wouldn’t be so bad, if the blood staining your life toned flesh wasn’t a horribly perfect color match for the blood of the dying equine fit to match the dying world you abandoned for dead. The vomit sprays the doors and walls, retching between sobs you fight to forget, to leave the dead world behind, like some twisted childhood nightmare re-envisioned for one last haunt. Still hunched over dry heaving long after the saccharine hot water swept away the remnants of vomit and blood, you cling to the warmth of the liquid careening down your spine.

The light of midday brightens the room and you breathe deep, the air thick and heavy with early afternoon; and as your foot graces the floor you feel the wooden fiber of it, rich and earthen beneath you as your body moves from the bed to the window. As beautiful as this new world seems, the wind even seems to carry a soft lilting note – sorrow pressing hard on your mind and a memory you wish to forget. Shuffling back to bed you surrender once more to the glorious amnesia Hypnos grants; mayhap days pass and in vein the sense, as the clock betrays mere minutes. Peering up at the ceiling you fight between forgetting and scheming, torn betwixt the sense of guarding one you care for or of self preservation.

Waking to a new day, the weight upon your heart has somehow lessened, and the guilt racks you into a harsh sob; preparing for the task at hand while blinded by responsibility is swiftly done. Calming breath to steady yourself at the window overlooking that bright world you can see with such voracity, a vein attempt to preserve the sense of innocence. A sensation familiar crawls upon your skin and you look down to the sidewalk beyond and into the eyes of dull blue glass and the tears well softly in the corner, betraying you and your decision. You cannot save her, you wouldn’t know how - but if you remain friends the fact of this would drive you mad; abandon is written on your face as plainly as E PLURIBUS UNUM on the currency, full of sorrow your frown twists into that smile all the gods of pain and loss bear. As you bring up your gaze to meet her face, her piercing stare, your eyes convey “I cannot save you and I cannot stay” and this alone is awful, but the pain is sharpened by her soft smile and the ease of her body language as hers convey “I know. And I forgive you.”

Turning your back you slide to the floor and let the world fade away into the blurring tears and the wracking sobs.

I might notice I was crying if I could feel it and if I was accustomed to seeing where I went. I lived in your world once. I know this, but I cannot remember. Sometimes I think about it, but all reminiscence brings is pain. I feel the chill coming and sight relief.

Might not be death, but a girl can dream…

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.