The Lies You Uttered Still Whisper In The Trees

And the melodies spilling through my veins, myriads of symphonies time had yet to tell. Shining silver etchings, iridescent upon the milk pale surface. Myths and legends, warnings and prostrations of tales no poet had heart enough to breathe into words. Such sorrow, such agony; sweeter due the bitter. Vibrant and rich.

The lies you uttered still whisper in the trees, haunting me with all the blessings life has stolen. Everywhere and in everything they speak of a youth filled with love. Here am I, jaded in silk shadows. Grey blue, with tumultuous oceans for sight. Pallid and glowing amidst the shade, flowing darkness sparked to background sound; rumors you can’t quite catch but yearn so desperately to gorge upon.

Slip in. Slip out. Slide silent along the worn path, narrow and jagged, flitting just along the perimeter. A flash of pooled moonlight, anthropomorphic; breathtaking. Beauty a poor man’s lure, the mystery here is deeper. Torrid. Some Sidhe slithering, beguiling your indulgences. And if you have the courage, if you have the strength; the rewards ever outweigh the risk.

Violent and cruel, exactly what you’ve been warned away from. Yet the chance is thrilling, trilling the soul swimming along your highways; seeping into the furthest mundane edges of suburbia exposed. Nursed inward to your most audaciously brazen self and murmuring ever gently, things you never thought you would hear. Things you cannot quite comprehend. Things you cannot live without. Things you need. And all it takes is that one chance. But it’s all or nothing. The creation. The destruction. In the end the question is simple. Searing. Revolutionary.

How much of your soul are you willing to lose?

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.

The Tragedy Of Cats

Why is it some mammals just insist upon rubbing you down so as to grant you a good covering of their fur?

And out from some Greek Tragedy it is always the ones you find yourself allergic to.

I am sitting demurely, masticating the fur betwixt my toes and here SHE comes. Strutting as though SHE is the daughter of Bastet; some pampered elegant royal temple cat. Presence a lie, SHE’s all the class of an abandoned rotten academy; with more litters than toes upon HER paws. I swiftly veil my contempt – truly such trickery is mastered by cats alone. SHE attempts to do the same; a leech in a fur coat – it is in vein.

Deftly do I descend to meet HER eye to eye; characteristic of my eminence. HER lip curls, but SHE catches HERSELF and refrains from full snarl. Mine eyes have seen the game, and I am a better player – to say Master is being modest. Swiftly do I see all SHE has to offer, an estimation to be calculated and I have yet to underestimate the underhandedness of my opponent. SHE sidles up to me, hoping to feign obedience and compliance while smothering my scent with HERS marking dominance perhaps to illicit and provoke some rank response. HER face burrows beneath my chin and as SHE glides I bury my face into HER neck and let HER glide along to the tip of HER barely furred tail. SHE begins to saunter off and stops abruptly realizing that HER scent lies beneath mine.

The fury within HER eyes burns and smolders as HER fur alights to stand upon end. I sit lightly and await HER movement. A physical attack is dubious, yet not entirely out of the question; I am easily twice her size however, the supreme thickness of my coat dampers the judgment to my strength as well as hiding ancient battle scars.

SHE yowls as though a lit firecracker has been tied to HER tail. The attention of Lead Mouser has been caught and casually alert he saunters over. SHE caresses him, mewling woe betides as though mine ears are suddenly deaf and I cannot hear HER calls of betrayal and dictation, authoritarianism in the extreme. His gaze levels the room and all cats stop motion keening their heads in our direction. Decorously I stop cleaning my paw before dethroning him with a Hiroshima glare.

Now this is getting interesting…

Do I Have To Tell The Story Of A Thousand Rainy Days Since We First Met…

I am running. The acid rushes through my veins, I’m sure there’s blood there still. Maybe. I’m running from you – or at you – I’ve been running so long it’s hard to remember.

Initially it was at you. To be with you. Every kind word a blessing in disguise. The longing rises within, a cruel kundalini –its serpent smile just as misleading. But you are such a sweet fruit I cannot help but long for more. Crisp. Sugary. Red Delicious. E’er within reach and just out of grasp. Temptation never looked so good.

And in an instant, the realization that I’m clinging to a memory. Or a dream. Stumbling I look up as I’m struck with the validity of the never ending quest.

Are you real or venomous mirage?

I need you. I’m sobbing before I comprehend. You are here, all around me. But I need something more. And I am ashamed.

I was whole once. Complete. Absolute. Entire. The only thing craved was more time with you. Every iota of time so precious seconds to years in a minds eye and details with voracious vividity. The scent of you is strong, long after you’ve gone away. Deep. Rich. – Life itself.

The crueler part of it all is that you never left.

Always there. Never the way before.

A hundred questions cross my mind before I can bare a whisper. Fate would be kind to remove the burden, but the weight of it is ever suppressing. I’ve analyzed it all. Beaten the long dead horse to life and death time and time again. Over analyze a gross understatement. How can you stop watching as the needle is shoved through the eye? You’ve seen it hundreds of times and always with chills, but like some authors demonic tease you can’t put down, you cannot look away; nor prevent the replay.

Maybe you don’t have to die to go to hell –

You don’t realize how lonely all of it is until you’ve been complete. Somehow it’s not all it’s cracked up to be and how do you function now running on E? find me the man who quoth “It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” That I may smite him with his love. Fools are ever poetic.

I remember the before time. Sad to think I miss it. Ignorance may just actually be bliss. But you can betray what you’ve known to go back to it? Let me know because I just can’t seem to find a way. And if you can could you face the guilt of going back? Given the choice to do it all over again – would you?

For what it’s worth, I miss it. Perhaps more so than the feeling of a soul’s completion. For as decadent as it was, in the before time I was invincible. Lost far beyond the barren lands; cracked and gray, and e’er cloudy – lost in the turmoil of self depreciation. Climbing to the snow, past breathtaking mountains, into cruel valleys where no warmth came and all life extinguished. A perfect wintery landscape; as harsh, hard and unforgiving as is ever been in existence. Perhaps colder than the glare of the truly heartless. And far into the center an ice palace, all harsh line and jagged razor edges; malicious mimicry en large of the daintiest of snowflakes. In the tower, high into the lifeless air, the blood of the captive who became free…

To what ends?

Winter has come and with it always the memory now of the before time. Who can say where all this may end. For so rarely do great things seem peril less.

The memory of you is half the problem. You are always here and never there. In vein I wish for you when my soul aches from the cavernous cold sweeping in from the Universe.

Always in vein do I wish.

Always do I wish.

Labyrinth

Sometimes the days seem to stretch on forever. I think I remember times that were better – but do I? As my soul collapses inward I ponder ever seeing a brighter side. Of course the grass looks greener on the other side. I might remember what it tasted like if only I could halt the frantic consumption of ash. While it’s heavier, somehow I think it’s just not filling that void there.

How long can you lie before that lie becomes truth? I’m gagging on those ashes again, but it’ll wash down with another handful. If mirrors are gateways, what’s there for you if all you see is nothing? I crawled inside the other day, only to find decay. And the comfort that the frigid brings. The tightening ache in my chest clutches harder each passing day – I might say it’s my heart breaking if I hadn’t forgotten what that meant long ago – and I fight to breathe through it. What happens when I’m too tired for it?

When I started at the beginning of this I knew where I was going… Plush labyrinth turned harsh maze.

was that the Minotaur?

I’ve run out of options and now I can’t’ help but run on. Before I can realize I have fallen down I’m up and running again. I’m chocking and coughing in a strange fit as water blurs my vision is this what crying’s like? but the drive is strong as I stumble onward. Drive rooted so deep I don’t even think to question, just moving.

Motion! Is that the answer?

The pounding of my footsteps is my only memory.

What am I running from?

A thought so quick I’ve lost it before I can conceive its idea.

There was a destination once I think and I try to awaken myself to it. The flooding sensation only causes my vision to lapse into bright colors and vague shapes. Movement is default. The acid, what was once blood, in my veins burns and stimulates kinesis. Prone to it, I can’t remember sleeping, only myriads of dead ends and paths traveled. As my eyes come into focus I see the path laid out before me. Comfort in continual motion, pushed forward.

That sound again; strange and scratchy, yet constant as my pace, shuffles. Thick and lush, no option available and backward is the way forward. Passing a path long since traveled, a figure glimpsed. Insignificant to the drive. The need to finish this. To find the end. If only she could remember the reasoning for starting to begin with was the figure she’s running from.

Sensation of time passing is an eerie one, but it crawls along my spine familiar as the pace I’m keeping ever onward in vein and the scratching shuffle that surrounds. Long since the elusive figure which haunts the hallows of this place as surely as I do. Pangs of something wrench as the silhouette slides across the paths of my thoughts and the drive is harder as is the ache crushing down.

The world is bright where the black reigned moments ago. Harsh the drag of air inward, wracked in torment. The slow stumble upward widens the scene, brightly scarlet thickly slick, pouring freshly from some gaping wound in this skull. Trembling and ungainly I surge forward.

What does it matter if I die here? There is only the answer. That strange secret at the end of this is my salvation or undoing and I must press on. I am not I. all that’s left is this shell

I’ve passed another dead end. I am lost and I just keeping running farther into it. Helpless to the need of something I cannot remember. And the dream of it is the drive, the hope behind the dream giving endless endurance.

And in the end all I will have achieved is the desolation of this that was once my soul.

I am at ease.

secretly she died long ago

murdered my her reason

We Had A Torrid Love Affair, Until His Dreams Of Death Silenced It

Along the shores and past the sea, the girl lies amongst the rocks. Not jagged, the black shreds of volcanoes long since gone – receded into the earths memory.

Adorned in softest rags of deepest darkness and stray strands of seaweed, wet and heavy she lay unmoving. Bedecked by sand and guarded closely by overeager crustaceans, the smooth alabaster belied the secret her body hid.

Dark and angry waves of the sea, green-black with envy, continued reaching in vein. As one who searches for some long lost items within. The sky, bewitched, held darkest clouds yet still the world was bright – as on a merely overcast day.

The vivid green of the forest further up the beach was muted. And unholy silence hushed the surrounding space. The birds that flew were silent as death’s harbingers, and the sea itself hushed.

Then she opened her eyes…

Some Silent Cat Whispered Sweet Nothings In My Ear Then Abandoned Me At The Altar

Some intrepid sin forgotten by a long abandoned god crept upon me whilst unawake I lie. Cushioned in clover and lost in blissful dreams of chaos. Suffocating blankets of NAG CHAMPA curled around, hugging the warmth by a still beating heart locked within.

and in the shadows, cloaked in observance death still solid perched the audacious shadow. gingerly tiptoed dainty delicate cat stealth, creeping e'er closer.

gentle as the morning dew

curled atop the muscled rhythm

one beat, two beat, a tango within the veins. and nine lives of fur void black and satin soft stooped to whisper in my ear.

in vein i lie there still

You Can’t Spell Slaughter Without Laughter

I don't know what I’ve done wrong. these days in vein searching every detail how wide the fine tooth comb

muddled mishaps scream while indecisions beg lulling false pretensions into hysteria

and every attempted scream merely issues forth sycophantic gushes of glee. a lying smile. this sweet façade. beyond the back door the girl is dying cold in the warm summer sun

in this crowd I am alone

this boy he smiles and holds me gently. and carefully he wraps me within tight ropes and my naïveté shines softly as i docile lie.

crucified in silence, not a whisper. and how carefully the unwrapping. the ropes serve again hoisted some sick carnival ride, afraid I’m the late addition

sweet silhouette upon the hill. a golden ticket lost, and i have watched all along to beg the question

can martyrs be void within?

smile. the jackal found it disconcerting when instead of laughter ink issued forth. far cry to the blackness of beyond lying in wait just within.