solisis

I am something less than your eyes perceive at this moment. Though you see me clearly in my dark cloak of standard stitched, single breasted business suit and decorative tie in an ornamental slip knot, sharply triangular and perfectly placed so as to reveal the crest of Dagson Hodges New York Design, it is much more prevalent, the wells of pulling skin and jagged mirror shards ripping my soul apart from inside, concealed beneath a well feigned smile. I live a lie in a day by day fashion, each less meaningful than every one before and darker exists the moon once held on my shoulders before I discarded it like my own heart and desire long ago. I saw me in you then. Only a second passed since the bells called your name to him, the one who should dictate my footsteps and build walls of steel before me. A game, as I see it. One that I lose systematically, as though I wished the execration upon me with a broken life to serve as the cherry on top.

I remember something about you that has faded to a mist, creeping about me unseen, hiding in the shade and fixating its eye on the most opportune of times to snag me and tilt my face to the mirror, the one I use to see you in the scents of flowers crushed and taste you in the chords of Puccini. The images faded as time progressed and my time ceased. You turned to a blur so enormous and microscopic all at once, like the nauseating feeling of the million mile fall you experienced as a child when you first contracted the flu, leaving a trace and a casual reminder with every object so unfortunate to discover my stare upon its surface. I hear you with every sip of warm water and feel you at the sight of a blowing wind. Enough so that I have become aware of your world more than my own, provided now that there is a difference. I cant even recall if you were something real or something I manifested through a lifetime of dimentia, as real to me as these walls and this cobalt dinnerplate and cross hatched vermillion napkin. If I had a friend, I would call him and ask if you had a name.

In this, what I like to call my cell, I discover a certainty that everything I observe is nothing more than either a visual or auditory hallucination brought about by a nervous clench and an unrelenting terror of life outside these doors. You once helped me hold the rails as I stepped into the waters of alleviation, binding nothing through blindness delivered by a sweet kiss from your hand and words you spoke only through the look in your eyes. It was a fearless day, those years we spent together. Each like a dream then, nothing more than a dream now. To the last, they were giftwrapped with crescent shaped ribbons draped behind a scarlet bow. Everyday a birthday. Everyday a reason to celebrate. Everyday I regretfully fail to unite with in memory as the tears pull them from me with a whispering cackle and an infantile finger point, drawing attention to the pathos of a man reduced through the humiliation of his own disentigration. A shredded gown, an untouched glass of wine, a leafless tree, the man who kneels before you.

These days reach no end, frumping through the still dirt of the desert grave I find myself ensnared within, trapped as a fly on the strip of cruelty. Increasingly evanescent are the breaths of hope I knew with you. The last of them to come as I step deeper into the vines, brown and rotted through in an ornate accent to this grey world of tombstones and ageless mounds marked of forgotten kings. We come here to die when we have already died in our desperate, despairing minds. When there is no word to convince us of our worth, if nothing can hold a value of any sort at all. A path of a circle, my trembling feet ride in an unmotivated wander through oblivion, holding my slouch and half closed eyes as a constant of suffering dwells excited in the monster who shrouds me. I will never get another chance to raise my eyes toward the rising sun, will I? Not another step into the pool you gifted or the warm blanket of you as the flakes of ice crystals drop off the nose of the winter god. You can never touch my soul with a cure, administered through a puncture of your glistening glance and voice of diamonds on black velvet. There will come no sky dragon to lift me from the mire and carry me to your cloud and into your arms of a silenced cry of pain. Instead, Im greeted only by the arid call of my chaperone through the river styx and clanking shackals about my hundred pound ankles of lead. He told me to try my best to ignore the seeringly unpleasant sensation of turmoil, as it would be quite the lengthly journey into infinity.

I cant stress enough the unmeasurable misery that consumes me without you. The absolute emptiness in the void of confusion and lack like nothing you have ever thought possible. A burning nestled beneath me, inside and moving throughout my bones, holding open my eyes as the thorns peirce me and claws of eagles chain me to the freezing iron rods of Masons Gate. They carry your blurred vision about me as an endless recollection of everything I will never get to taste again. An agonizing scream of pressurized arteries and ribs exposing themselves from behind my horrified exhale. If ever there was a red sky, I know now it was the blood of a man on the throne I have been forced into. Forced to replace or resemble as a token of success to the lords of suffering. Their number one prize. My surrogate twin.

This cast nightmare I give birth to succeeds all which wakes your children in cold sweat and tears, carrying the spectre of hell within its robe in a selective dismemberment of but one proud prince distracted by a single nickel in a field of green. This one belongs to me now, exclusively, I reluctantly admit. If only to appreciate every second and place nothing before you, I must have agreed to before I came to be. If only I failed once to absorb you instead of looking through the glass of a rotten world, I assumed to be the source of this unending punishment. I confused something so valueless in a mindless identification of necessity and in effect neglected my own promise to love you without dilusion or deviation. I took my hand off the rail long enough to slip the steps in a crashing severance of all that the mighty had granted me. I broke my word in a callous comfort, impressed upon me by misperception of value in things and ideals presented through the machines of society. I fell for the scam. And because of it, they took you from me and delivered me to this musk plagued, blood grey chamber of ruin, forever to press myself through the horns of the demons and writhe in the recollection of you. Make no mistake. If ever I said anything to you of value, remember that and recognize this one above all others spoken:

Love your angel without distraction and never for a second place priority in anything else, for love is the only gold and absolutely nothing else should ever catch your eye. Not for prosperity, not for comfort or lavishness, not for ease or foundation or security because in that day you might find your love stripped from you while you were busy wading through the grass in search of a nickel. And every day after, even in the commodoties of a king, will become a nightmare of anguish and pain so real to you that the world you once knew will dissolve into images of fire and torn limbs, voices of your angels stab and a touch of sentimentality to keep you wanting desperately another chance. A chance you will never receive.