She Carries An Abyss

A painting I did some many moons ago. A personal favourite of mine. One day I'd like to smear oil paint on canvas with my hands again. It gives me sexual healing.


As I place my plague upon her tongue, I tell her that together, we have the power to believe whilst all the non-believers crawl deformed about our feet. Ripping her black stockings, I go ahead and caress the inside of her thigh. Running my hand all along her tender flesh, my eyes pierce the very heart of what she is. Trembling, she knows the secrets I desire. They’re inside of her, dancing within her veins, scattered like sun beams shooting through her haunted, adolescent mind. Moving through layers of folding time and space, there is nothing we can’t do. The chambers of my own mind were obliterated many years ago. The skeleton keys of my truth, held forth like shining beacons, helping to guide us through the darkness. The eternal void, where everyone dare not tread foot. But for us, we float through with ease, and we travel to the stars. There are no ruins for us, only the runes I delicately draw over her belly. My signature, glistening beneath the sun as she spreads her muscles wide. The waters part, and the waves lap the shores we call our own. The language of the oceans, the treasures of our faith.

The mystery of love, contained in her lucid, brown eyes. The shocking lights, of sharpened lines, cutting to shreds the blankets of deceit. The walls of doubt, crumbling at the merest suggestion of her gaze. She has let me in, and now I’m inside, showing her the way forward to the doorway made of light. It sings poetry, in ancient verse. It hushes as the universe turns, all burning wheels racing towards the great discovery of our lives. Fields of corn, fields of roses, rippling in the wind just like the curtains in her room. Candles make patterns above her bed, and as she plays with what’s left of me, a song is sung that no other could describe. We’re made of secrets, yellow and gold. Tasting like honey, so rich and obscene as the larks swoop down from the trees just to get a glimpse of her beauty. Together, we are melting into dreams. The days unwind, no longer of any concern as we bask in shameless pleasure. Autumn, then spring. Upon her tongue, then down to her hips. Beneath her navel, and just above the lulling clefts of her sex.

Passing feelings. Lovers in a parked car. Their lust false, not like ours. Oh the cheapness of insects. How it can be so repulsive. Imitating with inaccuracy. They offend, with lies and vulgar acts of cheapness. Punishment for all the non-believers. They deserve bullets. And so she feeds me bullets. She feeds me her kisses too, and every inch of her flowering body. We are physical, and we are symmetrical. She clings to me as I do it. The penetration of the bullets into dim flesh makes her explode. I can feel everything she feels, and I’m burning up, being swallowed by sensation. Shattered glass and stifled cries. Crimson blood, bubbling like words spat out in anger. Reaching, always reaching in. The mutilated remains, of teenage lust. Artifacts, for a new order. More useful dead than in life. Portals, to another place. Free of history, of the tired confines of modern living. Together, we have the power to believe, and together, we pass through. We channel energy, and rhythm. Sighing, she holds onto my bones. Whispered words of wonder follow as the landscape that surrounds us dissolves. Obscurity eradicated at last. Atoms of purity, shining slowly at first, then dazzling. Lonely moonchilds of purgatory, come with us. Come become one.

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