| A few days ago, I had a dream it was rather peculiar. And since then it has been haunting me. It was a nightmare, which is normal. The viscral degredation and slaughter of my puppet-body is normal. I've dreamed many of a dream. A self fulfilling prophecy of misery-pain. I'm used to the sloughing of skin and crumbling of bone. The monster hunting me out of hunger, the mans teeth and claws sinking into my skin out of pride. Occasionally the feel of an unwanted caress of Something invading my skin. some horrid beast trying to inch its way into my body. a sensation id rather die than feel again. But tonight was strange. Another dream of persecution and fear. The specter's of death looming above me weilding clouds of miasma and Akaryocytes. The swing of a dull scythe, worn from the hungry demon weilding it. But in the midst of it. I awake in the yard of an enclosed fence. The barbs poisoned and electrified by the blood and synapses of its victims. Under the bedroll of wool and leaves. Surrounded me are the faceless peers I've seen many nights. But amongst them is her. A woman I've never met before, somebody who I cannot clearly recall. But she looked like the sun. Soft, warm and loving. She called to me, calling me her beloved. Wrapping me in an embrace that felt like butter softening in the kitchens counter. The warm spot of sun by a window. Cozy and warm. And in the first time I lose the fight in my body. I succumb to the sheer sensation of love. I feel safe. Truly safe I had in a long time. She whispers to me sweet nothing's and sweet everything's. The promises of returning to the sea, the salted embrace Ive wove into tapestries of hope for her. The promise of sweet papaya, and soft bread. The taste of pina coladas heavy on her tongue as her words caress and envelope me. Like she was Margaritaville herself calling to me. The visage of adoration etched onto her face. I've never seen such a thing in my life before. Not this love. I've seen love before in the eyes of my lovers long scorned but not this love. I've not even seen it in the eyes of my progenitors.. not at me, not at each other. I've only seen it in the faded illustrations of fairy tales and mythos of destined love. Of one beast broken and severed, it's pieces scattered amongst the wind. And she was the other pieces long broken from me. I was whole again. she was a romantic painting, a work of art that rivaled the chapels I've snuck into. A visage of.. I don't know.. I don't understand it. Why look at me that way. Why taunt me with visions of a completeness I long for. Something to end my endless greed and gluttony. The end of the glasses, of the engorgment, of the billowing smoke. Of the worthless garbage I drown myself in, both figuratively and literally. Within this glass labyrinth of desperation she has made me her mouse! A prevarication is what i desire in my soul.. or whatever soul I have left. I don't think this visage.. meant it crudely. Whatever it was. A demon, an angel, a vision of my past long forgotten to the oxidation of time. A fragment of a fragment of my mind. It urges me forward, the embodiment of the sun.. to one day feel... Whole. And I will diligently work, even if my vision isn't clear anymore |