A Precarious Situation

All the world waits humped over in silence. The purring engine to the polemic mimicry of the universe doubts our existence. We were never here and we argue over our importance. The jungle breathes in the darkness caring not if we live or die. Vegetation does not stop for instances of the mind; it carries on eating up any rotting tissue in its' way.

There is an eroticism to this rotting; this disintegration of flesh, muscle, bone with the wet slipping of slimy bellied rats from one shore line to another. "I did not think so many were undone." Sitting on the river bank watching violet light seep into the ground water I ponder our undulations in the foreign lands eating up derivative elements of hard tasting candy. The wind blows my hair to a moving crown and I wiggle my toes in the mud.

The jungle breathes... waits in silence for the world to end. Waters lap at the shore of a timeless sea where pearls are little more than oceanic pebbles drifting into the eyes of dead sailors. "Look! Those are pearls that were his eyes!" The world waits... Watching... Breathless as the towers of ancient civilizations burn on the horizon with the shuttering rhythmic cry of over zealous demi-gods who undone so many. The world holds it breath and the jungle shivers creeping over the long dead assimilations of an industrialized society. Great machines of war mean nothing to the creeping vines and skittering beetles of the corpus genus...

In all of this wasted ironic mutations I lie naked watching the stars on a river bank dressed in the vestiges of a gluttonous race. Each star winks at me with a pearl-like eye telling me the secrets of unused emotions vibrating from one existential relapse to another. Each dead star brings me its' light as a dim memory of another existence in a futile race to arms. I slowly bury myself in the sexuality of mud like a cryogenic frog, testing the limits of each wriggling limb, and wait for the world to start all over again...

The Wrong Ones

A slow *slip-slop-drip* dripping on the floor. A kiss like fighting; fighting for air, for breath, for meaning, for reason... Kiss me harder. Kiss me like you actually mean it. This affection is an illusion; a story you made up to get me into that big soft bed. A story to run you fingers between my legs; leaving me in a want of shivering sinking pseudo-ecstasy. A shiny voice chittering in the back of my head, "It's a lie. Never trust warm hands and a buttery voice. Never ever trust blue eyes..."

Truthfully, I should have never trusted this passion I felt for you. Passion lights upon my eyes and heaps upon my shoulders like the baggage of a thousand passenger trains. I am so very very tired of being a train station... A place you stop on your way to something better. A hold over; a momentary relapse of straining meaning. "Let me take this North West passage to your legs; this mountain rail over your breasts, a stop-gap measure at your mouth..." Do not bother to wave on your way to that golden land; I have already turned my eyes upward.

Have I chosen this isolation or has it chosen me? I have never been entirely sure. I seem to remember coming to this room and thinking it looked comfortable. Did I think I wanted to spend my life here? I can not remember. The walls are now painted with my heart; the colour of chocolate, cream, roses, and fear. That dripping is no longer sensual; an act of fingers in careful places, but merely the annoying ticking of the clockwork lives of my neighbors. Little ants scurrying from one hill to another... I see the world pass through a cloudy window... I refuse to acknowledge its' passing... My colour is red and it bleeds through the walls of my inner most places... Pain is all I have left to give.

I find myself wishing for pureness and a slow pressing of skin to skin but I wake up wrapped in sweat-soaked sheets choking on some already fading dream. I twist around myself; face myself in the mirror stained with the tiny drip drops of another life. I face this ghost of myself; stare at the lines etched in moving granite, the haunting paleness of my skin, and the people living behind my eyes. The ghosts of fingers trail over my underwear and up my back; I would shiver if I had any feelings left in my nerve endings.

I live in a world no one else can see and only love the wrong ones...

Flap Your Arms

I am afraid to walk straight lest I fall into your arms. Every line I draw seems to lead to my feelings for you. I watch you put your hand on the small of her back; I shake my head trying to rid my eyes of the image. I hiss through my teeth and turn my eyes upwards. Crows blacken out the sky calling in time with the crying voice inside of me. My vision darkens filling up with black feathers; I feel feathers sprouting on my back, on the inside of my arms, along the crown of my head. I flap my arms and fly guiltily away.

I romance the words. Make them do my bidding. I call down your name and wrap it in every dark utterance I have. My mouth rambles around lost incantations as I force my lips to forget your touch. I kept your hair. I weaved it into my own. Some small piece of you to carry with me forever. I fall with no one there to catch me so I tumble through darkened space until I hit the ground. Falling is not so bad; it's only the landing that hurts so much. Maybe I should flap harder...

My body thrives in the night but my mind wanders lighting upon my often erroneous love. I am never right. I exist in wrongness. I dress my limbs in it like a bright robe of off-colours. I am vampiric in my wants suffering for a nothingness that fills up my chest. I raise my arms in front of my face as feathers glide against one and another. Feathers slide down my throat to give this darkness in me flight. I vomit it up with my undiluted love; I choke on feathers. My want flies free and I feel nothing... and everything.

I flap my arms and fly furiously on...

In a Time of Furious Qualities

I touch this beast inside of me. I feel her moving against me; twisting through my deepest hollows of muscle and bone. She shifts and drags her teeth across the tissue of my heart. She howls with such a ferocity that I worry the people who I am trying to avoid will turn their eyes to me at the sound. She strains against my skin and puts her fingers behind my eyes. She hisses for the love she has lost and the love she still searches for.

The intensity I feel comes from her. It flows off of me in waves and slams into the unsuspecting targets of my carefully guarded emotions. They stand in the face of a bright red hurricane and crumple like trees with weak roots. The beast howls for the world to burn down around me; howls for the fires to desolate a space around me so I can stand in the center of the burnt ground with a burning heart.

Passion leaks between us and I contort myself into strange positions as I fall to the ground writhing in a textual ecstasy. Her growling becomes the constant background humming to my daily life. I pretend to be a normal girl; polite, calm, accommodating... but when they come to examine me closely; to pry into my little insular world they find a black-coated mound of teeth vibrating to taste their presence. She paces just behind my eyes and gazing upon me they can feel her rearing up with glinting claws and a pale smile.

And she wants to taste you, this beast inside of me. She wants your love, your heart and a burning fury to match her own. She twists and I scream. My teeth sharpen as she moves closer to the surface; closer to the rib cage that is holding her back like the bars of a prison cell. She strains against my heart; forces it to beat after I have spent all of this time trying to stop it. Trying to quiet my rapid pulse; quit my fractured veins; turn my heart to deadened meat. She demands I live and I love and I taste flesh.

She wants us to be one unstoppable force and she wants more than all of this.

Darkened Hearts

My eyes flew open to the sound of my heart breaking...

I was trapped in the dark and screaming. I was curled around myself trying to keep my insides from falling to the outside. In my dreams I was safe but here... Here I was a victim in your arms. You had those arms as strong as steel wrapped around me and I could see your hands were soaked in blood.

If I were to bolt from this room running with my hair streaming wildly behind me, would you give chase? My legs ached to run. To run from these feelings. To run from this burning pain in my chest. To run from those bed sheets soaked in my blood.

The fear was deafening until I could only hear the sputtering off-kilter beat of my own broken heart filling up my head. I wanted your arms around me. I wanted to push myself closer to you until you completely enveloped me. I wanted to disappear into you.

I struggled to stand on wobbly legs with your arms holding me up. You whispered in my ear that everything would be okay if I were to only stay close to you. I wanted to believe that. With every last ion vibrating a mimicry of the movements of the universe quivering in my body, I wanted to believe the words hanging in the air between us. I wanted your heart to keep me alive; to bolster the weakness in my own so I could stand without fear or frailty.

When I collapsed to the floor, you crouched over me with tears in your eyes. You spoke softly, murmuring, "I love you..." I closed my eyes and listened to my heart stop beating...

Change in the Face of Frozen Souls

I can feel myself changing and I do not want to. Those men made a beast of me and I do not need you to twist me further into this fuselage of broken down heart tissue. I can already tell you do not really care. You are another demon in my path whispering false love in my ear leading me down a road to bright red hells burning in the depths of my mind. I cut my eyes out to stop seeing but I still see you.

I keep this bed an empty terrain for a reason. It keeps my soul cold so I can face each day with a renewed sense of ennui. I float from this place to the next through the throngs of diseased little people so caught up in their own little world altering dreams. I touch none of them and they do not remember me passing. Do not catch the glimpse of my darting eyes beneath the curtain of my hair. I just push past them and move on. They do not see me.

If my heart were to pry open the light would begin to spill out and I would blind all of those around me. I become darkness but light stays trapped in my tightened chest. I breath little bits of stars that break off and find their way to my eyes. You can see my eyes glittering at you in the dark if you look hard enough. If you only open your own eyes and stare at me from across this empty terrain. I bleed red blood full of diamonds in the space between us and peel my lips back from my teeth to let words collapse the distance from you to me.

I dream like a ghost and only love the wrong ones...

Too Much (A Witch's Heart)

With downcast eyes you whisper, "this is too much;" but I know the most intimate act between a man and a woman is to have him take your hand and lead you through a crowded room. You trace your fingers down my wrist as you lead me around the twisted throngs of careful on-lookers locked into their own tragic romances slipping shiny little glances at other parts of the room. Glitter falls from the ceiling and lights upon my skin as you wrap yourself around my form in rhythm with this tribal beat as a thousand feet pound the floor shaking the false columns of a lost Babylon. I rewrite this Odyssey as I sink into the ocean of your arms with my eyes half closed and your lips on my neck...

Odysseus was captured by Calypso's languishing eyes for seven years but I think I am Circe stealing your men and turning them to beasts. A Wicked Witch of East Van living on a mountain of internalized fears and broken hearts. This room is full of nymphs turning their bright eyes to us in a winking moment of tantalizing breath. A two-sexed goddess controls the air around the stage and all eyes cast upon her but your lips remain upon my neck and your hands stray down my hips playing out the beat of your lust.

When we flee this room full of the beating hearts of breathless dancers and slip into the darkness of the city stealing down the back streets of dimly lit houses, you stop me and kiss me under a tree dripping in the last vestiges of summer. You run your hands under my dress caressing your way to your own desires. Did you worship me in that moment? Maybe even love me for just a second? But I am just a nymph, only vexing in the light of passion and good for very little else. I feel fall creeping it's cold hands into my hair and the wind begins to blow from the North to chill my witchy heart.

This big bed is where I am undone and slip into a troubled sleep. You stand in the corner and whispered 'I have better things to do...' I can feel the fall turn even colder as I search for my clothing to cover my now seemingly useless nakedness. I can feel the new winter creeping further into my heart as I turn to leave. The dawn, once warm, now turns to frost in the face of my anger; all passion leaking from me as the summer vibrates on and on.

You whisper, 'I never meant for this to happen. I did not mean for it to end this way..." I look back into your sad eyes turning onward to my newly built kingdom of ice and the completion of my wintered witch's heart... You are right... It should have never ended this way.

The Angry Dawn

Your words are all apologies and sugar. You are pouring them in my ear flicking your tongue in and out seductively. Every time you smile, I make the wrong choice. Somehow your hands clutching at my hips inspires a quiet enthusiasm under my skin. This should be easier, but it never is.

Now I am marching out into an unwanted dawn with anger bubbling like acid behind my eyes. How does sugar turn to acid so quickly? How can a few words make me want to hurt you so badly? This would have been so simple for you; such a simple string of actions would have made me feel like a human instead of a fetish just for one night. This should have been easier, but it just gets harder.

What am I left with? All this anger turning to isolation and a resolve to sever any fingers that may dare lay against my skin. You poison me and walk away unscathed. Walk away into a world that seems so much easier for you with all your excuses and sugary acidic talk. It should be easier to hate you, but this all just gets so much harder.

I lie down in a coffin of my own anger and close my eyes. This will always be harder for me than it will be for you. Leave me now and stop thinking about me. I want to be in the arms of all this quiet. Leave me with no backward glances so I can be trapped in this angry dawn forever and never open my eyes again.

Latent

I cradled each of you in my arms over the many years between here and then. You with tears in your eyes, you with the memory of her still on your lips and you shivering from the fire of long lost explosions. I loved each of you in my own way and for a moment removed myself from the entrapped maze of my own mind to coo my understanding in your ears. To stroke your hair back while tracing my fingers down your cheeks. I loved each of you and forgot myself.

I never meant for each of you to hate me so completely. I thought I was doing the right thing when I walked away and tried to stop thinking of you. I just could not extract you fully from my mind. You all were buried so completely with your claws deep in my cerebrum. I convulsed under your memories and cast myself under the false walls of my little cell.

Now I have decided it is probably better to turn my back on the world. To refuse the stroke of a lover's fingers and hate my need for human involvement. Maybe I should be blind with my own fingers in my eyes carefully caressing the inside of my skull until I can think without remorse and love what I have become. I fear nothing and never leave.