Because I won’t waste a thing, the sad and lost,
because I won’t endure impossible pain just to feel sorry for myself,
torture is not an idol thing, especially when I allow the dark abuses.
Because I have a hero who I might follow with all her red knights,
I have begun the intentional road of facing the long imposing force that has caused some of the only fears I’ve ever felt. The one’s that stop me in place and make me cry out for mercy from the dark spirits themselves. Those who taught me to end dreams and start them again. Those who came as suffocating dragons so large that I could not see them. Those who came as the figures in the dark who would dare to take a form in front of me and I plead “please please not tonight. Come again the morning. Or come to me in dreams, there I’ve learned to endure the terrible fear.” They might come in little bits, but more they have waited for me. And maybe I can now? I have to. What else is there for all this torture and pain but to face this great dark. The beast. I know it is devilish of course, but also great great good. It is that immaterial, magic, fodder, folds, exploding always.
Last night I let a little more take form, walking to the bathroom. Always in corners, in the darkened glass and mirrors.
I won’t waste the pain.
Not for more drink, or pretenses at comfort, inauthentic arms, I’ll dive right into my captors embrace, right into the devil’s mouth.