my love is dying and breathing the sex in my skin…

Sexuality can be a shield, a weapon or a white flag waving peace. It’s a bottomless pit of victim hood, projection, objectification, masochism or escapism otherwise. Death is the reason -and attraction is lethal. Your only problem is that you’re afraid to die and so your sexuality is bound in survival, accomplishment and fate- these are the 3 things that suck the love from life. Death brings the end of grief, the solution to separation, the final lonely kiss on the mirror.
Surrender is the only strength we can muster. Surrender is simply riding on death’s back, free from troubles like fear and doubt..already annihilated by the blessing of clear sight. I am free to go inside the forbidden room- through terror’s door of who I really am- and I saw that I was no one and we weren’t afraid. We were gone gone gone on the back of the black one… swooping and sweeping and bodiless. Crying inside the emptiness of never needing anything, of course I still want you to love me. God was a witness and that was all. Sex was a noose and a supplier of goods. Union was the story they told us to lighten the load. And the two hollow vessels filled each other up with holograms and the bliss of existence…and so for a little while we assumed we weren’t afraid to die and to be killed-we would rather kill and be all alone…and for that while death sat waiting in the corner as a reminder of the trade. “I’m not going anywhere. It’s you who comes to me. Prayers will be answered in the order received”

“I love you, burning toast” (I always eat the black for good luck)…sexuality is a bite of death’s force that shrieks like a banshee through our bodies making war with the imagination. “Feed me, it’s square and black- is all I know” death makes babies and gives them to us to slowly kill. This is where we are. Stop lying and pretending life is something else. Death is your mother. The Mother Light is the flashlight she holds for you as you make your way back into her tunnel after you get done hallucinating this place…I’m making you promises as we speak. Sexuality is morbid and winding. Sexuality is angry and red. There is a river running through hell and upon that river rides a white swan always singing her last goodbye as the sound of her orgasm through bricks of black fire. She doesn’t need you. You thought your body was it, that the steam was the fire- that the heat was the form fitting woman. You thought that the man had the answer, he carried some carnal power- hard and immortal. This is all wrong. Death is a dragon with a long, hard, red tongue and a hot, pink, moist mouth dripping with promises. “I promise you I love you. I promise you I’ll never leave. I promise you you’re the only one. I promise you forever and ever. I promise you my rickety body. I promise you anything you want….” death is seducing it’s corpse over and over and you’re dreaming the pleasure and pain. It’s a sado masochistic wedding that has its skeletons wearing black and white and then consummating the promises- the dragon’s vows of life forever after love. But there is no life or love until you die- (this time, not last time) sexuality is the attraction to annihilation as an act of mercy upon the blank bodies called us.

This is my story.

I’m in Florida. I love screened in porches where you can pretend you’re outside the box, even when you’re not. Speaking of leaving the box…
the only thing that ever brought me closer to god were my many near death experiences- and even then, it’s only always after the fact that you realize who you’ve slept with and how he helped you to see just how hot you really are. I’ve met many saints and holy people and they didn’t really bring me closer to God- they just opened my eyes to who God really is…because some people just hate God or become more fearful when death lifts his eyes to meet theirs…
my promise to you is a surrender deeper than the love we’ve imagined to avoid ownership of the lawless and unperturbed anarchist dragon…

God is none other than my awareness of him breathing into me to remind me whose in charge of this ride- whips and chains and crosses, scabbed knees and scars that don’t end…black leather and studded belts- pits of self destruction- sabotaging, singing girls playing with your forlorn anatomy- boys left without a drop.

God lives in every broken heart like a germ in ambush waiting to devour the illusion.

My love is dying and breathing the sex in my skin…

forever at last.
Sharada Devi

1 thought on “my love is dying and breathing the sex in my skin…”

  1. It’s always been about dying.
    I remember when
    I let u enter my heart and
    Could finally lie back. Or forward. Or sideways.. Nothing else

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