Underneath old stones and brick laid on top of marred soil; no more fertile than the desolate and barren womb of an old and dying and dead animal – perhaps incomplete as a landscape but overflowing and overwhelming as a feeling, a brittle life that emerged; being gently placed in the arms of my mother, only to be traded back and forth between the shallow embraces of old lovers for newer and cheaper models – a parade in paradise wherein lust and divine solitude intertwine and meet heartbreak at its core; I am the one wrapped in infernal godhood and the viscera of girlhood.
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Numbers repeating as a mocking fairy whispering on my shoulder, “divinity within change and change within divinity,” as if nothing were real outside of my eyes and the grey-fleshy matter of my brain doused in mud from years of my head being pushed into the ground – pillows full of feathers and plastic wires, the grooves and sharpness of tree stumps being pressed into the skin of my back, a stone slab laid out under the pulsing and radiating stars of night ready and eager for a virgin sacrifice.
I intercepted a message that fell from a portal once, only for that threshold to swallow me whole and spit me out the other side in a backwards realm.
Somewhere along the way, down a cold and vacant path of old stones and brick atop charred soil, I fell into a deep slumber where my dreams were sweet and laced with honey that dripped from my eyes – reality is not so kind and reflective anymore. I wish I could chase the feelings again but they are so far behind me, so long gone down the hole I dug myself out of; it is nothing to me anymore.
Anymore. Anymore. Anymore.
The paradigm is new and a shift is coming – something in my earth-quaking bones gave it away; maybe I felt a form waking slowly from across the land in a distant and foggy memory. A memory, or a dream?