dark with murderous numbness, icy fog gathers on the horizon threatening to engulf my soul... again.
it is on the outside this time, assaulting my defences with disciplined zeal and patient persistence. this creeping thing is out there, laying siege to the fleshly structure that houses my spirit, attacking all that it can within the jungle of neurotransmitters and receivers and chemicals and hormones. it tries.
this slithering thing is out there and i am thankful. it is not inside. it is no longer a parasite - a stowaway in another humans heart that i would welcome with open arms. i would gladly embrace that heart and in doing so take the hit that would put me under. i wouldn't feel the break. i wouldn't smell the burn. that puff of smoke would blur seen reality into unrecognizable shapes and visions. a cacophonous chaos unperceived by drugged consciousness would burrow through me like a disease. i would not hear the sirens. they would be too late.
its motives are clear and uncensored, but for this thing, my soul is not a safe place anymore. this thing that would shred, cut, smash and tear me to pieces is on the outside peering in with ravenous longing etched into its ancient weary eyes, but it dare not enter without invitation. there is no hiding place dark enough, no fortress sturdy enough to protect it from the master of my soul. should it enter unbidden, its destruction would be swift and merciful and there would be no trace, not even vapors. it knows this, so it remains on the outside assailing, gnawing, speaking softly in my ear. "awe, poor sweetie, just listen, just wait. poor baby, please, let me in. just listen..." melodious and pathetic, its voice strings out coaxing monologues. it wants a piece of me... no... it wants more.
it knows about the light in the depths of my being, a light that is apart from me but that i am a part of. it has seen that light and it hides in the shadows of its gaping valley. it knows our romance, the one that stretches across the plains of human existence. the love story that is written on every cell of my body, in every song that i sing, in every smile, in every sob... the numb, icy fog of death itself longs for this. i am willing to share.
but soon light will overtake me and catch my spirit up into the presence where everything dissipates into beauty. and light will whisper, "honey, we're home."
