Soul Stuff



When I’m asleep, and all my ex-lovers are floating outside my window, she appears in the mirror and slips through from her world to mine. She is the cure for my illness, a trick of the light that bends itself against blacked out eyes. The rest are serpents. Whores in sheep’s clothing, or maybe it’s the other way around. As cities fall in the distance, she takes away my pain in a single kiss. With memories as leaves, she leads me to a place where there are no reflections, and where our hearts beat freely away from savage clutches. In my mind, there are so many echoes of things that once were. Weightless, they shift forever out of reach, yet close enough so I can taste how those days used to be. Shapeless like dreams, they dance like the stalks of corn that still shimmer so bright after all these years. An illness of soul stuff is a terrible thing indeed, but there’s someone for everyone, and behind those eyes, she knows what drives me to do what I do. To imagine a day where all that inflicts me is left behind. The ghosts. The alcohol. The isolation from those who know what it feels like to suffer in the name of creation. Among the wreckage of life, there is a spark that will not be consumed. It remains despite the passing of all those too intolerant to accept what they don’t understand. It’s a beacon for the beautiful ones- for those destined to speak an uncanny truth.

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