You are loved…
You are special…
You are kind…
Caring…
Resilient…
These golden thoughts trickle down to the child, dribbling between my thoughts, trying to reach the rambling child down below. Down to the little girl with fear and rage battling inside her tiny, fragile body.
Drip…
Drip…
Drip…
I pray a prayer that even just one reaches her, to drip onto her tongue, to calm her, to show her even in the darkest part of my soul, there is light. The tunnel is long, the tunnel is wide. But there is light. But her little thoughts bubble up to me, as though she were a poisonous fish gasping for air down in the depths. But what if that light – that searing light is the train? Will I be shattered into porcelain pieces, scattered across your memories? Will you matter without my hatred? My wrath? What light can burn when the shadows do not dance?
She was forged through desperation, though pain, loathing and torment. She was created through the emotions of others being forced into my subconscious, left to wander the mental plains of my being. When all the sadness, hate, hopelessness and desperation form a being inside you, do you foster it? Kill it?
Could you anyway?
She grips me in my sleep, pouring molten thoughts and dreams into my being. I see friends die horrific and painful deaths. I wander endless mazes and climb bottomless wells – one slip and I would fall for eternity. She feeds my anger into an uncontrollable rage until I wake up in the ashes of my actions. She disguises herself into a pitiful form and laughs when I try to reach out to her, to help her.
Because I can’t. And she laughs, a sound that sounds only slightly off, a note inches from perfection. The sound jars with my sense of balance, my sense of stability. No one can harmonise to a note so twisted, ready to slide up the passages, climb up the columns of strength and integrity.
Still I slide those golden thoughts, infused with light and honey,
You are loved…
You are special…
You are kind…
Caring…
Resilient…
She grips me when I hold a child, idly wondering what it would be like to squeeze the child harder, to dash it against the stone steps. As though this thought was a conversation starter, or a muse all people must have. She wonders if rape would be fun, if she threw that knife glinting on the kitchen bench would it meet the bloody mark she desired? She wants to kick animals and slide in snide remarks to any who pass by. She wants to tear down and destroy unity, falsify harmony and mock peace, make the grotesque beautiful in the failing light.
It left me wondering, like water from a leaking tap.
Drip…
Drip…
Drip…
Is it natural for us to want to hurt, to maim, to destroy? Or is it a test to see if you can battle it out and win. Good and evil tied together, but who will control who?
We’re intelligent enough to want good, but foolish enough to want to test it against human nature.
Still she huddles in the darkness, wide eyes with pupils too small to see. A feral creature swathed in ashes, soot and festering hatred. Yet beautiful in her blackened glory.
Drip…
Drip…
Drip…
ns 15.158.61.20da2
