Heavy

There is the touch of those familiar hands, resting heavy on my shoulders.
There is the aftertaste of bitterness in the sweet, glutinous, fork fulls.
There is the sickness beneath the makeup, the poison working its way out the pores.
Tell me, have you been sweating lies all your life? Or were you once honest? Was your heart once pure?
I ask myself these things in vain. I check my rear-view too often, I know.
But always, I expect to see him there, watching me from the middle seat.
His bright blue eyes dripping down like petals melting from the sky.

Did Hell break free from her prison? Did she gnaw at the steel
Until her heart was concealed? Until her gums disappeared, parading down her throat
Dissolving in her stomach, rotting next to the hearts of men.
And as she walked from her cell, into the sun, was she then restored?
Was she again young? Did her hair cascade, those wrinkles fade?
Did she know what she was?

Those hands are heavy on my shoulders, so familiar they are.
And would it not feel so if Heaven graced Hell with touch?
Tell me then, would hell not feel the pain of righteousness?
Would it not be so?
And tell me, could it not be so that Heaven ran his fingertips
Over Hell's lips.
That all was betrayed
And that when Hell gave birth,
To a child of Earth,
From the seven seas came
One.
That Yin and Yang was born in the unity of just One.

Who are they to frown upon the Mother?
Then who is she to teach with fire?
To bathe the One in incest and perversion
As it was bathed in love.
Though to what lengths would they carry that blazed basket,
Just so that it would know the secret.
Who were they to strip Hell of her rights?
Afterall, she was only reaction.
The tame did not know such pleasure,
They did not frazzle their wits as the kettle burned their bits
And tried the lungs of the weak.

And these thoughts, these claws, are digging into my shoulders,
Just above the heart. Thoughts that become choice.
Stroking my neck with its tongue,
A sickening pleasure, bringing me to depths, shattering all I believed was understood.
"Call me by my name" I whisper. "Call me by my True name."
"You have many," He replies, purring, thrusting.

In the end
At the beginning
Standing on the edge,
Bathing in misery like snakes bathing in the light of the sun.
And we give misery this cursed, wretched name.
We mark all that is forbidden Evil,
We mark the sickness wrong ,
We judge, label, hypocrites to the deepest depths.
But without, we would forever be caught between the minutes,
Never moving, never rising, never growing or advancing
Never learning or understanding or feeling.
We would be absent of compassion.

Does peace exist?
What is the value in peace? What is the value in war?
What is the value in life? In living, in suffering, in loving
In being hurt, in being broken, in falling down so far that you've forgotten the smell of existence?
Holding onto roots of trees the men will cut down.

His claws dig deeper, he licks my skin raw.
A collection of masterpiece laid out for spewing art
Of birth , blood, death .
"It is too heavy" I say. "I will be crushed."
"But your child will be strong" he replies.
He begins to eat my flesh, just small bits at first.
The child is waiting, there in my body.
"What have I done?" I whisper.