(Im)pure

He watched the moon set over the grey blocks of architecture. The mist he was so fond of was hovering around their edges, merging the sharp corners into blurs of sky. He never remembered the setting of the moon. The glorious erection of sun too chauvinistic in its performance that the man forgot the tired old moon as it shrank away to breathe over another soul's night. Today he couldn't face the sun. He was afraid the light of the day would burn him and cause him to accept their night was over - that a new day was forming like a rampant virus and would soon engross him in its honesty. The man had felt himself redefined that night. The hours of moaning panting poetry between the sheets and kissing across the skin had sparked chaos in his chest; a wrathful warmth of longing. He was enslaved by the impossibility of what he knew to be the most honest desire he'd ever possessed and under the ghostly smile of the moon he was allowed that brief happiness; that momentary connection with contentment. It's irregularity and beauty a foreign confusion to his unfulfilled voracity.

The man's eyes drifted through the cool dawn mist and a personal haze formed between his lids. The inevitable danger of his tryst was rising with the wretched majesty and ego of his galaxy's relentless star. It threatened to dissolve his immunity and leave his pure devotion tainted. He felt the skin of his bare chest as he faced out the large window - he traced the sky line as he traced his love's inflictions of lust; softly scratched into his powerful frame. The clawing hands of a cum drenched entanglement, pleasure, hunger and fear all singing a melancholy choir across his figure. He smiled through the prick of tears and lost himself in the memory of gasping lips and warm tears of a finally found release. The edges of his happiness were moulding though. The fungus was stronger than the antiseptic thoughts he was forcing against it. He could not hide from the anxiety of rejection, the fading euphoria of a dream finally made real. The desperation to know the body of his true soul mate again - to lay lips across lips and hands between thighs was raging like a tsunami through his mind and his blood. The man's incandescent eyes could not stop from darting to the bedroom door to again drink in the fragile nudity of the flesh he had so long fantasized about.

The blue of the sky was loud now - the day had arrived. The man cursed the moon for leaving him there under this crumbling mirage. Before the day had it's opportunity to expose him entirely the man craved one last look - one last solid gold gem of adoring pride. But as he pushed the door open softly to the place he'd left his flame to rest on the cinders of their burnt out passion; he saw his son's youth-stripped eyes were already widened. In them a stagnating blank lost horror. The truth of the day didn't matter to the boy, the night was just as fluorescent on his torment. Its soundtrack a begging pain-gasped opera. The sodden sheet could never again protect his innocence - shield this new nudity. The man sighed with heavy grief. He knew he didn't deserve happiness when it came at such a cost. Yet both shredded souls knew now he would never stop stealing it. With that screaming, thrashing truth he knew he could never again depend on the veil of a naive moon.

Thunder

The light was assaulting. A blinding scream of electricity, launching into my skull. I tried to hide from it but the protection of my wafer lids was minimal, and the memory of it burnt enough to scathe. Was this heaven? I was struggling to remember a time before this moment, before this light. I knew this light, and only this light. This light was my spouse, my sibling, my self. But this light was unforgiving. It was naked and painfully true. It was the light of sobriety. I remembered something before this heaven. I knew it was not only this paradise I knew. A darkness crept into it - bleeding through my beautiful phosphorescent memory. An envious coal crimson of desire and destruction - it was tantalizing and horrifying. It smiled with blood stained lips and breathed an orgasmic perfume, my knees trembled at the memory of it. Knees. A body. I was more than the eyes that burnt and withered in this light. I tried to find my knees with the apotheosis of my apparent being - scanned the light for my body. I saw toes. I saw knees. I saw calf, thigh, cunt, stomach, breasts; me.

The light began to dull as I was permitted to feel my mind. Or rather it felt me, felt every nerve in my godforsaken justforgotten body. It shrieked at the abused limbs, howled across the corroded organs; whimpered in agony deep in my arteries cores. I ruined this body. Fed it the wrong fuel relentlessly and threw it across concrete and dance floors. It hated me passionately, a hatred reciprocated by my loathing of it. It didn't take my body long after awoken to feel the body next to it. My skin tingled in fear and disgust, prickled like a cat towards an enemy. As if anti-magnetized it began to creep away, towards the unfamiliar floor and away from the stranger's bed. My body stabbed against my mind, my skull trying to rid itself of the pulsing nemesis inside it. My hurried hands grasps at the clothes that hid my body's revulsion from the eyes of others, and from the sensibility of myself. There was bottles of liquor scattered all over, profoundly as empty as my heart felt. The place was somewhere I'd never seen; but the scenario was a frequent intruder. Slipping into shoes and slipping out the door I felt that darkness again. It was starving, the black; worn and desperate. It ate at me as I scanned the empty early morning street that met me after I closed the door on the intrusive truth of addiction. I blinked into the grey melancholy sky, repressing the tears of my realization. With a shudder I smiled into a practised mask of denial. The tears that dared battle through were rightfully executed by drops from the sad, lonely sky. The clouds were weeping for me. It was only a light drizzle, but I felt like I was going to drown.

thing

From the first euphony uttered from your lips I was hooked. Flayed by your words I lay bare. My skin felt the crunch of your teeth as you pronounced your 'T's, chowing down on my vulnerability as if it were a quick snack between urgent appointments. Through the weeks that followed I grew septic. My exposed flesh gave home to disease and I welcomed it feebly, too afraid to fight it in fear that you'd see - see the side of me that deserved to be your equal. As long as I hid in your naivety I was safe, the maggots could nibble me away and I'd go quietly. Letting your existence consume me. Not like in the way I longed to destroy myself with your love. I'd explode in your arms like a firework. Awkwardly lit and fired at the wrong angle during a november 5th family celebration. I'd ignite all the wrong places and leave the witnesses screaming as I seared their flesh with my passion. I wanted to be a flurried disaster against you. To leave no survivors; have blood drenching us as we manically laughed amongst the wreckage. We'd use the limbs of our victims as pillows to lull us into a protected post-coital dream. 

But instead I stagnated. Alone. There only to boost your ego. I fumbled and fell, like a fawn on ice. The mighty wolf I was became dormant in your presence, she cowered in front of your brilliance; transmutated from predator to prey - as if faced with a nova whilst standing atop a dying star. My confidence faded into submission as I began to worship you. I was a gold star awarded to a finger painting. You were a masterpiece of the entire galaxy. I longed to journey to the centre of you, to be annihilated by the heat of your divine superiority. Instead I kept to the shadows. Offering support and suggestions when I could. Suppressing the screaming truth for so long that it took a form too repulsive to imagine. And then it met the maggots writhing within me, and together they dined on the last shreds of my identity; my remaining morsels of self respect. With their teamwork I was reduced to a husk. A shell. A shit smear on your horizon. My piteous state a curse I was delighted to be blessed with. As from my state of sub-existence I was free, to placidly watch the exquisite storm that was you rage.