amongst my tears I bathe. washing my soul. first with one hand…then with the other. not wanting to dirty either so much that it will refuse to be cleansed.
wiping my heart as it weeps. not from loss, for that is all it has known, but from loneliness yet again. again the rock has returned, albeit without the anger, the despair, the sense of futility who acted as its travel companions. but alone…without the anger to melt its chilling fangs. without the despair to blunt its razored edge. without a sense of futility to dull the searing hope. again I sit here alone…looking into this pool of black, staring at myself. a self that only blinks when I tell it to. that only inhales if I need a breath. that only smiles when I will a smile upon it. no direction but here. nowhere to go but where I am. and at my back, the flames of hell. not from which I run, but from which I can no longer feel the comforting warmth. and at my ahead, a light from which I can find no respite. an open field in which I can find no rest. oh to be but a hummingbird. to touch and see and taste the one flower. but alas, I am naught but a nightcrawler, condemned to the hallows of blackness despite my very will. and so I must…and so I shall be…looking into this pool of black, staring at myself. a self that only blinks when I tell it to. that only lives if I wish it. that only dies if I decide.