the revelator
She had once called me the place where two opposites came to roost. Saddled within one flesh was fire and water. One meaning to extinguish the other in vapors and mist. Yet, she never saw the way my water logged bones fed the flames and ate the ash. She had once said that I was like a glass of black and white. Where the colors did not blend as they kissed grey but remained. Tendrils existing in their own shades without an origin or an end.
Yet, little would she know, how could she know? That by naming the beast, it was chased into the brush. She was the alchemist turning gold back to lead, sending hooven feet to the mud. Alien to the freedom that those 27 chains denied it, the animal had convinced itself that it was indeed free within the captivity.
Yet, little she would know, how could she know? That by naming the beast, she freed the beast. The alchemists 27 golden chains turned back to lead and hence to rust. Hooven feet took to the mud. The sodden earth grown unsteady and slipping away with the rain. Each storm seemed to take more and more in its passing until the moss bandaged the rotting wood. Unused to the freedom, the animal took to the brush. Using its spines and thorns for cover as its calloused hide had grown like armor over once tufted flesh.
But her nails, they could penetrate. She tasted like dopamine and brine. I sealed away pieces of myself within her each time I left her. Filling the coffers with old pennies and toys of superheroes and soldiers. I set the clock. Not for hours but for minutes and miles; 7200 of them and 54 more. The rest of the time, I was hunting the beast in the brush with sharpened stick and sword but it was all for naught. The glass was sweating its fat beads of black. The remnants within traced with the blood vessels that lined my eyes as sleep came during the day but rest was never to be found.
She made friends with the beast and the brush and all those other lesser demons. Her shape in the shadows lithely tamed that of which might evaporate in the light. I’d thought myself an experienced traveler through the dark before the dawn once. Living within the undercast, fearing the sunburn. But she found my hand and held it. The path drew up the seam of her thigh and at the apex was the break in the woods. I looked upon myself then. Cast off with the itching furs and the fleas.
“Stay a while.” her voice offered like honey and anise; warm but bitter. The beast laid its fur down its spine and passed under hand.
“Stay forever. For you are me and I am you and that is we.”
Yet, little would she know, how could she know? That by naming the beast, it was chased into the brush. She was the alchemist turning gold back to lead, sending hooven feet to the mud. Alien to the freedom that those 27 chains denied it, the animal had convinced itself that it was indeed free within the captivity.
Yet, little she would know, how could she know? That by naming the beast, she freed the beast. The alchemists 27 golden chains turned back to lead and hence to rust. Hooven feet took to the mud. The sodden earth grown unsteady and slipping away with the rain. Each storm seemed to take more and more in its passing until the moss bandaged the rotting wood. Unused to the freedom, the animal took to the brush. Using its spines and thorns for cover as its calloused hide had grown like armor over once tufted flesh.
But her nails, they could penetrate. She tasted like dopamine and brine. I sealed away pieces of myself within her each time I left her. Filling the coffers with old pennies and toys of superheroes and soldiers. I set the clock. Not for hours but for minutes and miles; 7200 of them and 54 more. The rest of the time, I was hunting the beast in the brush with sharpened stick and sword but it was all for naught. The glass was sweating its fat beads of black. The remnants within traced with the blood vessels that lined my eyes as sleep came during the day but rest was never to be found.
She made friends with the beast and the brush and all those other lesser demons. Her shape in the shadows lithely tamed that of which might evaporate in the light. I’d thought myself an experienced traveler through the dark before the dawn once. Living within the undercast, fearing the sunburn. But she found my hand and held it. The path drew up the seam of her thigh and at the apex was the break in the woods. I looked upon myself then. Cast off with the itching furs and the fleas.
“Stay a while.” her voice offered like honey and anise; warm but bitter. The beast laid its fur down its spine and passed under hand.
“Stay forever. For you are me and I am you and that is we.”