Sunday, February 15, 2009

She comes to me at night...when I am vulnerable

At night the silence is deafening. I feel her at night, when the silence of my world is encompassing. It’s at night when her voice is never out of my head. She is relentless in her attempts to whisper to me, to wrap my mind in turmoil. She is devious and seductive. Her sharp stare that she fires into my face is cold beyond all I’d assumed in the past. “Come,” she moans into my ear, “Come and tell me of your betrothed despair all you wish too.”

Like a beggar without the talent to support herself, she is unashamed of her presence around me. There are days when I am able to hold her at bay, and those days, she lies by the roadside, her desperate attempts to vie for my attention falling short of the mark.

There are days when I am able to shield myself for the torrents of doubt, self deception and emotional frailty she howls at me. But it’s the times when I’m most unaware of her that she is the most dangerous.

I find myself addicted to her touch. She is so easy to slip into, always ready, perfect and willing. She is so indulgent and willing to please. The darkness covering the lies she tattooed across her body, the dried blood on her lips from the last time she had me, hidden by the wine she spits into my mouth. I am drunk from her promises, lustful for her lies, I am dead to reason. Closing the door to hold private the vicious nature of my sin-to-be, I catch my eyes staring at me from the other side. I am unable to look away, and yet I can’t hold my gaze. I am a liar to myself. I am cracked and weathered. To the eyes of purity I’ve let down. I am pitiful. Fallen from Grace. Dead.

When morning comes and the sun peaks through the windows, she is not the same as she had been the previous night. The eternal youth of her body stolen and replaced with a decaying, crumbling face - dirty hair, scared skin. She croaks and writhes in recreation of the previous night's endeavor, showing me with sober horror the turmoil I gave to her, filling her venomous cavern with my pain.

She screams with laughter as I close the door and leave. I walk away, but suddenly turn around. She is there, once again beautiful and heated, longing to have me again, promising the guilty secrets I drown in every time....

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