Talking to myself (God’s in passage) y6-77
For such a momentous occasion a Lord once again bows his head. There be no beast that approaches, or daemon that wishes to seduce or entrap, but sin. It is once again time for the Lord of 6th to beg for his forgiveness. Time has not ticked in his favor this once, Luna has once again turned her cold embrace away from his grasp. He is tired again, drained; be it rest, his heart, his soul, or his thoughts, the lord is seeking a thing. Jousting thoughts across cosmos far beyond his understanding he tries to tackle the first disturbance in his troublesome mind.
Head heavy from a drain of all you may know,
This is not as deliberate as it once was,
You’ve been backed into a corner from wince you cannot retreat,
There is no compromise here,
This is no simple wanting of “a little shut eye”,
This is a strenuous need for an utter shut down,
For a starvation from all that rest here. . .close,
Close against the chest young Lord, ever so close.
Right where the void is,
Right where that maelstrom resides taking in all you give it,
That’s what you crave?
But to much of a coward to take slumber to a permanence,
Until you match the strict dedication of stone,
You shall forever remain weak,
You shall always want and need,
You will live the remainder of your days drained of all you crave,
Ever so close, but ever so out of reach,
All you need is but to ask,
But yet, you remain so fragile that a questioning rousing might break you. . .
You will never have rest this life time,
You will never slow,
And because of that,
You’ll die alone. . .
Once again erect are the horns that pierce the heavens, all three parts of his psyche sitting atop of his horns, as if he had not had to bare enough. There was no speaking of his decent into madness, thinking that it would only anger the Lord, knowing that it was he who caused it. Yet they spoke of his rise into a beast that may adapt to caring, something that had been stopped a many times, but to no avail of the three. Due to the heavy consequences of the Lord’s anger they chose to speak in dimensions he’d known nothing of, they chose to speak of his heart.
1. Had he given in to the parishes of cold as I had ask these inquiries would be null. Had he followed suggestion unquestioned his questing would’ve been defective, yet he struggled. He clasped at the hearts he held in his palms like precious stones expecting to crack and pressure them without breaking. My lord has become a foolish one, childish squandering in the minds of women as if he had himself made them. In each and every instance he rose to spire only to pierce himself atop and slide slowly to a spreading pain. As if no one had mentioned the position he’d entered, dented and scrambled he’s become. Fucking lunatic my lord has become. It ends the same way it begins, there is no change, this is the constant arrogance the lords are known for, thinking that with hands of stone they wouldn’t crack eggs. They were banned from these emotions for good reason, it was written as a rite for this exact fucking reason. How could one rule those of damned becoming if they do nothing but search for the reason they are so damned themselves?
2. You question as if your knowledge of him were beyond you. It is he who left you alone at the behest of the moon, just as he left all those he cared about at the behest of you. You, supposedly the collective darkness of a lord, forcing him into a weakened state, a crippling caring kindness. We asked of you of nothing but to not do this. Driving for a common ground with he and his heart, as if he didn’t already pain of thirty eons. But still this can’t all be placed on you, even after being cast out to the void you still clasped to him like the shadow he needed. This may seem like a trivial argument to you two but every little detail matters, he must either be rebuilt or eroded away.
3. There is no simple answer, you two jest and question as if you would actually change a matter of a daemon’s heart, you know nothing. Let him be, he will learn.
As lord sits upon suns, the days fade in and out of time, watching them end and begin in the same second. This is how lords are punished for abandoning their gods, their masters. Never taking into consideration that some lose hope in all gods, in all mumbles of crosses and reincarnation, sometimes it all sounds like the same lie. Sometimes that same lie moves nations and lords would rather be punished than serve false idols.
I can recall the ram pulling it from my chest like the smoke from an exhaust,
A twisting sickening feeling like living in a blender,
Churning in the elder cathedral,
My first awakening,
Blessed they claimed I would be without it, but I remember giving it away at such younger times,
I could feel the flame of candles thirty feet away on the altar,
My first new breath was one of brimstone,
Visions of altered existences that I’ll never be able to explain,
The horizon a visage of crucifixions,
This is what I was meant to see,
To dance in the sorrow of the crusades,
If only for a second it felt as it I had been there all my life,
I stood on my own coffin and took heart into the void,
I was there, I was where I was meant to be,
I was at peace with all my chaos,
Free of the restraints of sin and humane morality.
Gifted with the soulless shell of a lord,
A child of the sea, a lover of the Luna,
Mental immortality, the only life that ever mattered to begin with,
A gift from the vultures known as the Lords,
They taught me to dance on my grave until my corpse called out to me,
Until I am forced to dance with the elder lords in the void beyond the void.
This is what I’ve been left with,
The vessel of destructive plausibility,
I was left with but a shell of a man,
I was left a Lord.
This is what you find at the base of your throat when you just can’t speak, you leave yourself listless when you need to speak the most. This isn’t like the other parts you’re seeking, this isn’t the same safe passage I’ve always promised. This is truth, this is the bare bones of what I am, what I’m left to sleep with when no one else is around. When the bottle’s empty and nothing else around can soothe me, this is me thinking into my own void realm, the way I can’t find my way out when the light shines to brightly.
As I approach it again, the lands I find myself far to familiar with, I smile. Back once again in the home of the hollow mansions. Still in my aging condition I have found no answer for my fear of this place. Why merely being here feels like worms under the flesh, still I must be. I have now only returned with my ram, Luna stripping me of my hounds and replacing them with a dim halo around my neck, she declares, “for my light at darker skies”, it’s been nothing but a noose. I look again to the cardboard sounding sun, I know it’s time to seek shelter, I can smell the rain crawling over the hills. Sitting on the worn wooden planks of one of the mansions I for once learn something. They aren’t mansions at all, just all large single rooms for something larger than my comprehension. And then the ram reminded me of my reasons for being here.
Hello again my friend,
Don’t lose track of your jesting mind,
Your needless needing of necrotic things.
Where are you now?
How often have you fed in a cannibalistic way of your own brain?
Are you full yet?
Frightfully fleeing forward into a future framed around flimsy fragments you’ve found and thought you’ve fought for?
You’ve obtained nothing,
There has not been a single gain in your fruitless struggling.
You rest now, in a home of something beyond your own perspective hoping to find something,
You will learn nothing.
Twisted young lord,
Your mind has been as twisted as the maelstrom in your gut,
Not in the ways you’ve seen in the dark, but in the halo you wear in the night.
Let free the noose provided by your lunar lover and live lavishly off of all you’ve struggled for,
Off of all we’ve trained for.
I utter not a tone, but instead back slowly into a corner that seemed to back at an infinite length away from me and closed my eyes. I hope all is a dream, something I’ve always known it not to be, always knowing this was where I was to be when needed. I’ve never left the mansions without losing something I held dear, without a sacrifice of a love of mine. That’s how it works, that’s how it has always worked. For the first time since I’d come here I reply to my teacher I speak back to the ram.
With third eye open,
With mortal slivers closed I see it all my friend,
My true fiend.
I’ve seen the cost of thinking and the draining self loathing it creates.
Why do I have to lose something,
Why do I have to give something up that means so much to me.
I’m so fucking tired of just being a permanent student,
My loving brother, today I embrace the beast I am again.
But is today not another day you’ve pretended to be here,
To not be a galaxy away from the someone you will lose,
This is simply a punishment for another shattered way of seeing.
You’ve once again opened a door that you have closed.
What broken house have you created where the waterline meets the sky.
That’s why you are here, why your mind carries you to a home you will never be able to sleep in.
So welcome home brother,
The welcome mat has always been calling out to you.
My name is Shokief Dillon, I was raised mostly in the southern United States. I’ve been writing my entire life, it keeps me centered and able to cope with my multiple disorders. This is all I choose to mention here.
© Shokief Dillon