Friday, November 06, 2009

Love Song of the Sickness

Little windows in time
Hearts beating faster like ravens wings.
I watch, merely a humble spectator,
Savoring each and every radiant motion
Frozen in portraits of brilliant desire.
And oh, this desire is a sickness in me,
A creeping, wretched thing,
Not jealousy but a mass of crippling muck
Tinting my thoughts and making me weak,
Making me sick inside,
A sickness that boils in my veins…
His pale goddess glowing on my screen
And I have fallen in lust and continue to remain there
Allowing myself to drown like the bitter monster I am,
Bitter demon,
The one who has no wings except in darkness.
I caress the god and his goddess with my eyes,
My sickness flowing through me leaving a sweet stain on my tongue
Reminiscent of the death I am so enamored of,
My death, my internal agonizing rot.
I hold dear to my heart that I have also been chosen,
Like his goddess,
Except I can taste on my tongue that I am nothing,
Nothing even worth his time, nothing close to good enough for him,
And I scream at the sickness to implode and leave me empty,
A husk, a hollow doll,
I scream that I should leave them above me.
I can never ascend to even be touched by their glorious beauty
I can never hope to be cradled and the sickness assuaged…
He looks upon me and my heart skips a beat,
My forever longing making me grateful of even a moment’s notice,
He says that his opinion of me is enough
And yet…
I am stricken by the god and his goddess,
Awed by the beauty and elegance and purity of their union.
Who am I to even be a blemish on his radar?
Who am I to kneel at his feet and offer my adoration?
Who am I to hold this sickness inside…?
So broken, so used, so used to pain am I,
I cannot even function in a way worthy of his attention…
I have no right to lust after his goddess
No right to kneel and kiss his feet
NO RIGHT to hold his interest, hold his consideration,
Hold anything of his…
And yet, I persist in holding them both dear to my heart,
The sickness a safe resting place for my desire,
And through the sickness I can see my unworthiness…
The god and his pale, perfect goddess floating above me
While I lay on a bed of coals and worship from a distance,
My breath caught in my throat so firmly
I can do nothing but hope I may lay in their glory forever…
 
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