I stare at the paper until I see your face. I listen to sounds until words are formed. Softly falling, a bird lays, dying in the wind. My mind is white, I ride a cloud. Covered in lyrics and feathers. My new body is under the ground. I dream of you, on the ground I dream of what comes from above. Pictures, fragments, dying laughter. Pick me like a flower from this bed. Buried, dirty dream. Will you find me here, in this picture. Your face I sketch, your words I write. Your wings I float on. White cloud, I went too deep. Paper thin, blown. Paper, seed stained by me. Ghost over the empty white, I remember those words that you said while I floated away…
A pencil, all I need is a pencil.
Come back, create me. Nothing’s going to hurt you baby. Make me real. Did I do a bad thing, making you perfect. A heart shaped mouth, a black tongue filled with hunger. Flawless and delicately poisoned. A body so thin it was transparent. Eyes so distant they could never leave. Behind, you left me behind. There was a dream man under the page, and a dream tree with roots reaching into the sky. Endless food for hopeless thought. There were faces that seemed shaped from clay. There was a girl with a beautiful seamless smile. I wrote it all down, I sketched it for you. I said maybe you’re going to be the one who saves me. I was humming through the leaves as they fell, I feel you I really do.
Lay the child upon my bed.
Don’t go. Another morning is summoned and I’ve been given a new name. Word after word licked from the page. Divine line, sexually explicit prayer that only leads to more detail. Mystical is a word I mustn’t leave out of our story. Since I have forgotten most of my dream, only fragments remain. Undisclosed locations and unresolved emotional wounds. Chaos in a body of sparrows.
I suppose nobody understands the long and winding road. The dwelling place of the haunted, how to get there and how will you know when you are. There, in my arms. Lost in my body of erotic imagination, my mind of spiritual conquest. My words. My picture. My angle on the naked lens. How will you hear me whisper your name in the silk of my motherly touch. Touch nothing, I pretend and seduce. Want nothing, I give my heart to you. In the darkness where the earth is drawn. In the twilight where the words take form. I give the ghost, unlived, a name to burn by.
Go by, look into my window as I pluck the dead from my body of light. Unveil the mysterious lands of my own persecution. I was killed here. I made you love me here. I suffered the middle way here. I tore off my head and smeared it all over the floor here, for you now. It’s my portal for our departure. I lay in the sway of these waves and do not know why. Why love carries on in the crazy blood tide of memory. Or why I need to write it all down. Show you, listen. I did this to myself. We are one, deep throated goddess.
At the foot of the cross and roots I found you alone…alone covered in my shade. Sharada Devi