On a moonbed of dark things

IMG_2651

I sat next to you, I had come a long way just be near you. You shimmered with deep and dark things. Secrets you have never told. There is danger, being near you. Danger of slipping into you. Disappearing like everyone else did. But I came anyway and sat down beside you. You were a quiet rage, holding ages of pain. A pain that felt like ice, an ice much colder than death. And by pain I mean aching. An aching so low and so deep it takes special ears to hear. A porous body to body, the inner skin of the earth. I wanted you. To be you, taken without a trace. Slowly peeled from my own face and lost inside of yours. Your eyes. I could drown. “let go of everything.” you said. “if only I could do that water mirror.” I thought. I thought you heard me. The dream is in my head, the pain fills my heart with a burning cold. Unforeseen. I knew you, I really did. I am a hologram within you who is bigger than even what I can become. Taking over my mind, a rapture of sharp needles inside. I won’t let go, not of you. Whoever you are. I am here, covered in pins, sitting near you. Waiting for more. And I feel the slow movement of you inside this. Blood drops are real. Into you, nothing is seen without sacrifice. Whatever this is, I want it. Nothing else. Where could I go after you? Seeing you. Finally. Arriving. Red moon over midnight. At the place you seem to never leave and that I have barely found. To know you inside. Not sit beside. Get inside. This is my body slipping away into your swarm of dark water. I could be less than nothing if I could be you. I see. Something else. Rising inside me. Another you, another one, another time. Beneath her sorrow. So the churning of two invisible eyes. And the searching, “what are you searching for, in me?” You silently said. “myself, my ugly things I won’t see. You make them prettier. Deadlier. More permanent than even myself.” “I am. Is all.” The most divine. Who spoke from out of a pool of black. My voice, your throat. I am bottomless, not even death reaches me as far as I go. Down. So far down, we feel what we find, never having the words to say for sure who we are. The noises, how far back do they go? Underwater echoes, haunting whale cries. For each other and we can never find. Each other. Down here. “Do you know where you are?” You asked me. “I’m with you.” I said. “Me?” You whispered and as I watched whatever it is that you are, I grew cold on the outside and hot on the inside. “I can’t wait anymore.” “Wait for what?” “To get in you.” Then you started laughing in ripples and I felt the moon begin to die. Growing black again. Into him disappearing. Into the water. How do I know? I was there, feeling you. Moving. Underneath the crescent horns of cruel love. Then you laid down floating as I sunk into someone. Is it you, a you I could know? I get a very creepy feeling you aren’t anybody. And I want you like I want a ghost to possess me and do demonic things so I can feel vivid and full. Again, not taking over, taken over. And it won’t be my fault, because I love you. And you’re anybody I want, a fantasy. A deep dark god or goddess. A prisoner. My master. A teardrop. A bloody knife. A filthy hole. A God eye. I will be the one. Who goes with you, not even as me. As us, disturbed by the brightness of daylight. Into the pools brought by night, after she dies and admits to herself where she’s gone. Looking for love, is it called even love. Looking for bodies that match her version, my vision of what might be at the bottom of this, if only we could get there, lay there. On a moonbed of dark things, with each other, inside no other. Forget me, own me, consume me. Blow me up. Never know me, down here. I am just a feeling without a face or anything. Inside your head, draining your heart. If we had these things, if the dead didn’t know. Bodies themselves make good excuses to die. And so we went a long way. All the way to the moon. If we could we would. That’s why I call it love even though it feels evil and I know I’m demented to say it’s the truth. That is the place she sits waiting to go wherever he wants if he lets her destroy him first. Because it’s what this is. A love like God. A perversion that isn’t even a word. A religion that can’t be made, only entered at your own risk. Of annihilation. Consummation of a secret too forbidden to see with human eyes. Too bright to see without first being killed. Killed by the one who waits inside. Destroyer of colors. And I can’t even breath until then. Where is the light, was it ever? Won’t you say why you’ve done this. Made me wait so long…in this place where nobody goes. Nobody can. But me. Dark lover, pool of black. Anybody can know God. I want God’s silver soul.  And I’ll be here. As the drowning dark water for him. And I mean God. That’s how I feel it, undercurrent for you. The Eye. Down there. Void of me. A gasp into God. Sharada Devi

IMG_1860

2 thoughts on “On a moonbed of dark things”

  1. slip
    explicit wonder into me
    corridors of lost colors
    i am here awaiting
    not privileged but encouraged
    me
    small and emphatic
    me
    soul explicit
    and lacking the key
    with nothing to offer but
    the entity
    of my being
    with glee and
    fortitude
    i remain
    the sacred syllable
    RE

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *