dining demons

Peace is rare, and welcome in small doses.

Chaos is beautiful, and vibrant.

Silence is excruciating, stagnant, rancid, dark and unbearable.

When my life is on a path…..

Ahhhhhhh! My mind is so filled i can’t even decipher what to write of. You see, when my mind fills, at that point where it slips past the relative comfort of chaos, it shuts down. All becomes black, quite, emotionless, embarrassingly quite. This is not love; this state is anger, sadness, solitude, nausea, jaw tension, back pain, restless legs. This is fucking misery carved up into a jagged cut of fat littered, maggot infested meat being ravenously consumed by an overindulgent demon dining in my depths. His slurping jagged face tearing, spitting, belching, breathing, growing bloody, foul and increasing in overwhelming putridness. i shriek into the corner of the dark room, kneel in the fetal position, plug my ears, bury my nose in my arm, stifle the gagging and enter the trance they have become accustomed to since childhood. The trance of emptiness. It’s the only way to get through this place. Many are accustomed. i don’t stand alone.

Here i am.

i don’t like it when others try to rescue me from here. i’m not certain why, but i think it may be that when i’m here i feel that demon as a part of me. i don’t think he and or i deserve help, deserve love. We are ashamed of our appearance, our scent, our taste, our touch, our sound, our…. blankness.

When they come on their rescue missions i whisper, “Please go away,” through pursed lips.

They don’t listen and the tears begin to build within me and i tremble in embarrassment.

The demon, surprisingly, has developed and affinity for this incapable man, and will protect him, keeping him safe from the harm of others love. Striking out on my benefit, the demon rings out, “Get the fuck out. Go! Go now!” in his hoarse, quaking, tremulous, spitting, grotesque voice and body posture. i shrink silently back to my solace in the corner. The would-be rescuer flees.

Some are persistent, coming back time and time again. Others never try. i don’t think any human can rescue me. None have the stamina, the love, the energy, the skills, the words, the peace, calmness or steadiness of hand necessary. Demons love to play together. As soon as mine is heard, their’s start to boil-up from their depths.

Those fucking creatures build fires born of animals flesh and fur; chug pure ethanol alcohol; dance haphazardly on shards of glass, kicking hot coals of bone around; carving one another’s flesh with various rusty, dull knives and brand each other with their twisted and barbed brands. Finally they fuck one another wildly, choking, laughing, smacking, crying and coming.

The bodies that house these drunken, wild demons are left in shambles. lying in their beds unable to sleep.

i know no one can rescue me.

i know there is One that can rescue me.

~ by oneopenbook on September 16, 2009.