She bent over and picked up everything. She looked at me and smiled. I thought I had control. She pretends she’s leaving. She never does. There were many pools of water. In this place like a dream and he was beside me. She wanted to take him even though he was mine. I want to be here for you. But I’m not that great. You make me that way. This is really dark. Where your light goes. Where you go for me. Obsession. These pools of water. Which one should we choose. Black mirrors. I had this strange dream about last night. I don’t know what was going on but it wasn’t just about you. My mother is everywhere. Still. That’s all I know. That, and she lives in dreams and she takes everything and pushes it into these pools of black water. It did hurt. I don’t know who you are. Maybe in me. Maybe not. I saw obsession. Pulling. I was once innocent until she got inside. I hope I don’t do it to you too. She is lethal. A definite fatal attraction. She’ll pretend it’s you. She’ll grind the death out of your eyes and back into hers. There were other women who were not me. That was the original sin I suppose. They all sat at the big table and the pools surrounded us in a labyrinth made of inescapable hallways that led to private rooms with these pools. The pools had identities, more obvious than even mine. Some were covered in cage, some in chains. Some slanted down, going underground even deeper. Some were very large and would whisper my name. At the table you looked at them all. She was the vortex. She didn’t care about me. It was you who must be taken. And to you I disappeared. And it was just me left with the pools and a pair of eyes that would look back at me and say, “I don’t know.” And we would move to the next room. Where are you taking me? You said, “We need to get you out of here.” It’s the truth but she won’t have it unless she’s the taker. And I thought we were leaving but we had to stay. I seemed to sink deeper into this skin that wasn’t even mine. Along with the other nameless women, I held onto a fantasy of choices. I have no choice. You left with her. You dismembered me. You didn’t even wait for me to drown in any pool of black water. I am a face you know. With eyes heavier then lead. I am not a hallway. Or a tunnel leading out or into anything. I am beneath it all. Sadly breathing in the room. The room where we sit before everything happens. She bends over and she picks up everything and pours it down her dark throat. You don’t know me. If you did you’d hear her laughing and you’d know I am inside. It’s so intoxicating I know. It’s spellbinding even. Pushing into you hard, breaking my face into a thousand slivers of mirror looking back. “Which one is she?” I know it’s hard and you can’t fuck them all, there’s no time like the present. I am the original sin behind it all. Only because it’s me you want, not a dream. Only because I captivate the purely death bound. Dying because we went inside and started moving things. Picking up dead bodies, opening doors. There is this labyrinth. Which looks like any other ordinary room until you go inside and it goes on and on forever. A maze of hallways leading to these pools like they’re gods and they are. The made us shallow, they made us deep. And we can’t escape anymore because we know what she holds in this black water that never moves on the surface. The mirror we stare into and wonder. “Could I die here?” Of course we always say no. And go back to the hallways and tunnels for more choices. Then at a point in the night we came to a crossroads and your eyes, which were near me, became inflamed and I realized I didn’t actually know you, or me. That’s the dark part. The pool was there. With waves and winds and clouds filled with thunder. I became confused and said, “But we’re inside not outside.” And you said, “What’s the difference, she’s everywhere.” As if I had forgotten, which I had. I don’t know me like I know the mystery I enter. Room by room. I don’t know me even though I’m wet and black. I don’t know me even though I breath her breathe as I move. I don’t know me because she’s deeper than even that. Taking you. It’s so evil. Why I am in this. No one has ever lived to say. How you got here, why your eyes are so dark when the light shines from whatever storm is between us. I don’t know. It all seemed civilized until now. She’s like that. It’s as if we can never know what she’ll do no matter how many times we meet her like this. No matter how high we lift her toward the ceiling. As if there were one. I know only one thing, we aren’t safe. Not as long as this is her address and not ours. And these pools, still, black mirror pools of trance inducing waters, float better than we do. Do you see me, where I’ve gone. Back to you as if I could move in any direction when I cannot. I can only go down which I know makes you uncomfortable, which I’ve never been able to understand. I am writing about a subject that writes about me. This personal void. Childhood trauma. Lifetimes of sacrifice and victimhood. Sexual healing disguised as whores who stand as still as mirrors at the crossroads between worlds above and below holding signs that say, “Read me. I wrote this. At the bottom of my black water.” And we ignore them, pull up our pants and move on. But I never did. I kept myself naked because I was one and seeing is being and knowing is going and blood is thicker than water. Of course it’s what they all say. But last night was thicker than blood. It was heavy. And yet she lifted it all. Maybe through you, maybe through me. Like I said, I can’t be sure. Not like this. I only know what I dream and how I interpret your face in the mirror of my mind. As far as a place filled with hearts, that’s the reason, not the confusion. I knew you wouldn’t choose me over her because you couldn’t. She’s too deep, embedded. In me where she comes from. And in you, where she goes. I know I am senseless. Just watching you as you study my surface wondering if I am the one. This time. The pool that leads to you. Obsession. My mother is everywhere. And I don’t know what to do or where to go. We are never alone. Contrary to what I’ve been saying it’s true. She is in you.
And in me. Sharada Devi