Ma_Malai's Xanga

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Sun, 20 Dec 2009 14:04:18 GMT

I can try to live again through your eyes, but these hands in my throat will still keep clenching into fists that twist all the air out of me. After vomiting I lay down to rest and stare at the bloody footprints in the kitchen that let me know I haven't always been by myself in this place. As I watch the mud on my arms dry to dirt I wonder if your eyes, still staring out into everything, will exhaust themselves to fragments of dead cells, dried meat and salt.

The air is burning from when I turned the coffee maker on to reheat the pot from the day before. It smells stale and hard, and I wish I could get up so I could go and turn it off, pour a cup.

But I can't move yet. There is still a soul that lingers here. Everything in this room is infused, and like gelatin it congeals at the bottom of containers that I was too careless, too foolish and too hopeful to cover.

Thursday, December 10, 2009

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 00:32:47 GMT

Purple? I had forgotten. Time can do that- dissipate what little lies upon the surface- but it cannot destroy what, heaving and tumultuous courses underneath.

Tuesday, December 08, 2009

Tue, 08 Dec 2009 06:25:11 GMT

And in darkness stumble down the stair

And in blinding light reach out for what is simply, just not there.

Tuesday, December 08, 2009

Tue, 08 Dec 2009 06:16:14 GMT

Sleep? How I wish I could.

In lieu of you I have the moon soaked stones upon my chamber floor, and winter's creeping, cold embrace- her kiss- leaves diamonds on my upper lip that melt to boiling water dripping down and soaking through my sheets.

And though I try to rock myself to sleep instead I rocket out to space and watch my body turn in circles as it burns to nothing more than coal that longs for more than what infinity that empty, lies ahead.

Monday, December 07, 2009

Mon, 07 Dec 2009 03:25:31 GMT

Were we left here, upon these distant shores or did we make it here alone? From whatever rocky cliffs from which we leapt- plunged, and surfaced, thrashing- water pouring into our lungs and leaking from our eyes as we dragged ourselves to safety. Tangled up in hair and seaweed.

At the mouth of those caverns, half immersed in sea and completely entwined, we found a way to be everywhere inside each other - and though I later left you to that dark abyss, pressed into the rocks and craving the air I pushed into your mouth through mine- in that small moment lay the birth of my eternity with you.

I always thought the sand that trailed along behind you was strange, but now that I can see how soft it is, how pale under this moonlight- I understand. You won’t leave this place. And in walking, waking, you’ll bring it with you- leaving footprints home to pools of water, bits of bone and sandy plankton.

Monday, November 30, 2009

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 13:05:01 GMT

I want to tell you what you are is beauty, like streaks of cloud across the brightening sky lit like fire from the rising sun. But instead you fill yourself with falling dark, inhaling winds and freezing rains that birth themselves in rivulets of melting ice that pool upon your upper lip.

Where I rejoice in morning pouring forth, you lay upon the shore of night with starlight lapping at your feet. You watch me twisted ‘round, plunging backwards through the frigid surf compelled to pull you forward though the waves and back to me- but it is not for me to say that you cannot become remains. Remnants still I’ll grasp for, though still they will refuse my touch.

Monday, November 30, 2009

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 00:21:45 GMT

With dawn came a soft film over your eyes. Pushing through the broken glass and prisming itself, filling up whatever vision you had left with liquid gold- motes of dust and skin that float upon the air.

I wonder if, when you left, you rose up through all of that as you were lifted to wherever you were going. Were you raised perhaps to Valhalla? Could my hand have been your sword?

Saturday, November 21, 2009

Sat, 21 Nov 2009 04:04:04 GMT

I'm trying to remember if you screamed when I pushed my arms into the cavity of your chest. Struggling to grasp at something, anything but reuniting again only with my own hands. I might have withdrawn, but instead I locked my fingers and pressed a little further into you. Until with nose and chin and one last gulp of air, I opened my eyes- already burning- into that space you carried with you.

I realized my mistake.

It wasn’t just some void that hung down from your larynx and rested on your ribcage, but instead was full of innumerable particles that birthed themselves from the dust of bones and stars that died a thousand years ago.

I had no idea you were so old, so hungry. I must admit the smell inside of you raised every hair I had. That smell of carcass gone to fossil, it still excites me.

Back home I found I’d gained the tendency to leave the meat- in waxen paper tied around with twine- upon the counter. Hours and days and time on time. It was hunger drove me to this, though I ate none. The scent poured forth, indulging every crack in lustful permeation. With eyes closed, head tilted back, my hands, always restless, would wander. Wander.

And always, in the rolling in of fog, find their way back to you.

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 03:37:46 GMT

There was a moment when birds exploded from my chest and every gasping soul swept in to pull away the remnants of what you left. Every breath and piece of tongue and bit of beating heart until all that remained were clumps of hair and feathers and mewling voice. Not even shadow, but perhaps a silhouette.

Empty is our house as blind you stumble forward into the rising sun, seeing only red hot pain, although I wish that you could see my cold white hands and how they lust to reach inside your chest and grasp at tangles, working deftly, quickly, just working.

Of flesh, of thirst. Sightless eyes and brief, unpromising touch. Of heat and pressing bodies. Legs and arms, as the crook of your neck is salty from the sand of a sea you visit only in your fevered dreams. Eyelids blinking tears and sweat, and thirsting. Thirsting.

I want to scoop what darkness runs through your veins like silver running through that cliff, to rub each flaking piece into the heart of that little porcelain bowl.

To take and hold you, to lick and swell from what I take knowing I'll be done but you will not. But I'll return to see, to weep, and watch and to be watched by other silhouettes who've run their course and jealous, turn to us.

Knowing that you'll long to know of what became of me. Knowing only how I loved you as dying embers love a breath of air. Knowing not of how now, I can grow beside you, both strong and reaching toward that sun and what we see of other worlds.

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 16:14:43 GMT

The reality of everything ripped it out of me. It began in the back of my throat and sloughed through every orifice.

But with pain comes clarity, and with emptiness a chance to begin anew.

Like trying to claw my way out of a sandpit at the edge of the sea. Salt water and tears choked my mind as wet clots of sand filled my lungs, and instead of striving forward I gave up, and slid to the bottom to be engulfed.

Strange though it may seem, within the chaos that surrounded me my soul burned white hot and my mind hummed the singular note of a unified verse.