(no subject)
The world of my soul
Is the soft pink of Saturday mornings.
The silence and perfection of it
A reflection of you.
The crescendo of Ode to Joy
and body warm perfume.
Through the dark and the hell in my head
You are my eternal, immortal, Beatrice.
//
I am to be without all the senses.
Hearing
Sight
Taste
The touch of you.
As if the loss of one was not punishment enough.
To be stripped bare.
To be nothing but fading memories.
If there is salvation in torment; let me suffer.
If every moment, disembodied, would bring you peace, joy.
I would gladly suffer till the stars burned cold and then were no more.
//
Scent on sheets.
Slowly dissolving minor piano chords.
A door that remains closed.
Distant laughter.
A lost hair.
Finely formed clouds.
The bite and sing between two bodies.
An ache,
The fade
Of you.
//
Beethoven prayed twice a day.
Who played for the royal court when he was seven.
Who composed and played at a level unmatched during his life and to this day.
Who contemplated taking his own life.
Who's aching and ailing never ceased.
Who never married because the ones he loved never loved him in return.
Who was completely deaf and never heard his 9th Symphony except for in his head.
Beethoven who believed in the joy and the greatness of the human spirit.
//
The extreme between delight and despair
Is nothing but a breath or a heart beat.
//
When I was hiding and seeking protection
I should have been savoring you.
All the cover and armor did nothing to save
My soul.
It was nothing more then wasted time,
You are gone.
And the sketches and moments are leaving me;
And I am empty.
//
If I could burn you and your life to the ground, I would.
Like a plague
Like a hoard
With my teeth and nails.
Through fire and steal.
Devouring and destroying you and everyone
that contains the poison of you through your blood.
Wiping your name from the very fabric of the universe.
From me.
From the cells that you saturate so completely.
Damnatio Memoriae.