The land where I died
I find myself dreaming, once more of my own end.
Such melancholy peace I find in the image of my own demise.
--
I stood in a morgue, like the ones you see on a television show. Shiny metal banks of body caves, and the slab in the middle. All was quiet, but my breathing was unnaturally loud. I could see a figure under the sheet.
I stepped forward slowly, filled with great sorrow, and reached my little hand out and caught the corner of the sheet. I peeled it back slowly, revealing myself. I pulled the sheet all the way off, and let it fall to the floor, and looked upon this vision of myself.
Her hair was longer, and lay in clumps around her face. Her eyes were open, her mouth, too, and her skin was a bruised and mottled blue. Her abdomen was swollen, her body puffy and bloated. She had drowned.
I wanted... what? To close her milky eyes. To brush her hair back to health. To make her alive again.
I took a scalpel from a tray, and cut her chest open. She had no ribs, no breastplate, and I found I pushed her skin away to reveal her purpled heart. I took it from her chest, and without hurry, ate it. I ate it like you would a peach, but there was no stone in the centre.
And out of my own chest, I took my glowing red and beating heart. I held it in my hand as it pumped my blood down my arms, then gently placed it in the hollowness of her chest. I folded her skin back over it, and closed the seam with my own blood. I stroked her hair.
I leaned forward, and placed my lips over hers, and blew my breath into her lungs, gave my life all to her. As she became rosy and pink again with life, with my blood and my breath, I became bloated and blue.
She turned her head to look at me as I fell, and smiled as I died in her stead.
-----
I understand it. It comes back to the circle of life, death and rebirth. It is my desire to remake myself, to be all that I need, self-sufficient.
I ate the heart, a cannibal. The ouroboros, the snake eating it's own tale. Giving my living heart in it's place, a continuation of the bloodline.
All that I need within me, the desire to stand alone, to break ties, to return to wonderland.
No. It is too late.
Such melancholy peace I find in the image of my own demise.
--
I stood in a morgue, like the ones you see on a television show. Shiny metal banks of body caves, and the slab in the middle. All was quiet, but my breathing was unnaturally loud. I could see a figure under the sheet.
I stepped forward slowly, filled with great sorrow, and reached my little hand out and caught the corner of the sheet. I peeled it back slowly, revealing myself. I pulled the sheet all the way off, and let it fall to the floor, and looked upon this vision of myself.
Her hair was longer, and lay in clumps around her face. Her eyes were open, her mouth, too, and her skin was a bruised and mottled blue. Her abdomen was swollen, her body puffy and bloated. She had drowned.
I wanted... what? To close her milky eyes. To brush her hair back to health. To make her alive again.
I took a scalpel from a tray, and cut her chest open. She had no ribs, no breastplate, and I found I pushed her skin away to reveal her purpled heart. I took it from her chest, and without hurry, ate it. I ate it like you would a peach, but there was no stone in the centre.
And out of my own chest, I took my glowing red and beating heart. I held it in my hand as it pumped my blood down my arms, then gently placed it in the hollowness of her chest. I folded her skin back over it, and closed the seam with my own blood. I stroked her hair.
I leaned forward, and placed my lips over hers, and blew my breath into her lungs, gave my life all to her. As she became rosy and pink again with life, with my blood and my breath, I became bloated and blue.
She turned her head to look at me as I fell, and smiled as I died in her stead.
-----
I understand it. It comes back to the circle of life, death and rebirth. It is my desire to remake myself, to be all that I need, self-sufficient.
I ate the heart, a cannibal. The ouroboros, the snake eating it's own tale. Giving my living heart in it's place, a continuation of the bloodline.
All that I need within me, the desire to stand alone, to break ties, to return to wonderland.
No. It is too late.