I do not know where he came from. He pressures me to unzip my dress as the warmth of his tongue caresses my ear. It doesn’t feel wrong tonight. I’ve taken too many pills. I pull out the bottle from the cabinet in the kitchen, drowning one pill after another as if it is nothing at all. I use them to ease my head for awhile before I crawl onto the couch in the afternoon sun. I do not feel afraid. There are some things that you cannot explain, like a memory. A memory can lead you anywhere if you are willing to follow it.
They sit and smoke and talk outside on my porch. I can hear them talking. I do not know what they are saying. Then I hear a soft knock, the door opens and he walks over. He’s staring down on me where I sleep. I’m paralyzed. It’s a sweet sort of terror. I’m lying still and calm. But I am not safe inside my skin. The light is on and I can see all the forms and shapes in this chaotic house. The night is warm and I am dizzy. I am disconnected from him. He is wearing the cross that I used to wear. The scars still hurt, there’s still a mark where I cut into myself with a rusty knife. There’s this sick quietude of midnight when I cannot sleep. I do not sleep, for I fear him coming to me. It hurts so bad. Like a million sharp knives that cut into me. He’s an octopus. His web is my web where all the pictures collect in the bottom of a bloody pool. He’s watching me and waiting from the crooked tree, his name is Azazel.
He pours wax onto my cold numb body. I hear whispers mixed with echoing words amidst the florescent room. They strip me, they take my blood, then they pour wax all over me. These demons laugh like happy cherubim sparks. To rise up from their dead graves before falling into autumn leaves. They’re dragging chains behind them with their sarcastic angers; they need to find an innocence to tease. Teasing children to ease their pain. To comfort them in their hellish realities.
Beal, so high and mighty. A wisdom unsurpassed, gray hair that glistens with tears. He sits on his golden throne beneath the beauty of heaven. Sees time before it is met and watches the world unfold in prismatic colors. The angels dance in their fields of yellow wheat. He wears a silvery crown with bright gray jewels, and he holds beside him the specter. He can command and entire world to fail. His musicians and artists make music and poetry of the spaces.
He is so high while down below is his prisoner. Within it is the vampire who loves to steal kisses from the twilight stars. He sleeps in muddy dreams. He’s soaking with snake poison and holly. He eats the apples that fall upon his head, and questions whether they go up or down when he’s pushing the world into holes with his hands of snow. He looks into the red crystalline tree, suddenly a girl comes into view…she’s wishing on a star. She’s lost in a world where people smile then fade. But she’s always there, always there running.
Today she is still. He holds his hand over her lips to muffle the screams which cannot escape. He sucks into her veins with deep remorseful cruelty. He’s trying not to be so cruel, but it happens when he feeds. Her body is his prize. His temple is her body, she is now the victim of his playful teasing. Wicked scribbles and inky dreams fill this monster’s head. He is the monster she loves. He won’t tell her it, though, that she can no longer feel. Then she swallows her pills and Abaddon sleeps.
He rapes her when she’s not looking, when she drifts from one corner to another looking for a friend. Now she is no longer a child and her happiness is no longer a tune. His heart is broken and is turned into stone. The darkness engulfs her with spiteful sweetness. He perspires as the evil rolls off his skin in sweaty lullabies. She sits still, the movie starts again, and while they are transfixed she escapes.
Nothing is real. It is all an illusion. It looks like something but it is not what it appears. She holds the dagger to her chest and swears to fight for what she’s missed. The candle flickers restlessly, it is time she says. It is time he says.
I’m stepping over his death as he waits. I’m looking for a reason to believe in art, while my heart is scattered over the valley in red ashes. He is asleep at last, embodied by all those things that I have lacked. If only I could close the window, kiss him through the lenses and tell him I am truly a friend before he looks away.
In a parallel world things are not what they seem. When you might think it’s just an illusion, remember me. Wake up just to see. I have opened the door so that you could see the darkness embodied in my spirit. Now as the rains whirl through my head you shall have learned the truth behind the lake of fire. It is a path you have earned.Burn the memories.