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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic

The catalyst, and the dark night of the soul.

Submitted: May 10, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: May 10, 2018



I'm Home with her always.

All at home, inside.

A window. The womb, my safest lost room (I died)

I don't want to come out yet. But she's pouring down

Like Autumn. Or flashbacks of you.

Like clouds.

Heavy.... Heavy ones.

Lover, Hater... the Other, No-One.

You watched me, let me, push her from me. I let you help me fall.

Attuned to your black heart disease frequency and

All at your beck and call.

A heart shaped balloon filled with gas-light lies... you are all charm and intensely dead eyes.

Disarm and control, guilt, trip, Command.

Binding my wrists, restricting my hands.

Synthetic and frayed. A tether. A noose.

I want to come out now, I want to. I do.

I want to be raining and saturate you (who?)...

I want you to ask, to invite, tell me to.

Hey we can pretend

About why and

For who.

Who. Are... You?

(Always Perfect, I see through)

Pulling me out of me.. I watch you, Knowingly.

I feel you and breathe you in. Inked onto, crawled in my skin.

Plastered you onto the walls of my life.

(Wait, where are the walls?)

With a sledgehammer and all the pretty lies

We took turns destroying them all.

... And me.

My mirror, you're shattered (but never not there)

So now you can go. I'm all(most) aware.

I think... I am Home. You are Home. Anywhere.

Go inside

Again, in there.

And the voice in my head

That says the Right Thing

Has been fragments and splinters and

So echo quiet.

But when I call to her now?

I must be outside.

She's a void, in the void.

She's completely gone Silent.

She was my Love, my guide and True vision.

All of my Home inside,

My intuition. 

And you.

Are echoes of uncertainty

Tangled up with feelings that just

Fall through my hands, like your hair

Or ash or sand or dust.


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