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she_damned_me_with_her_dying_breath
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And so it came to pass, upon the darkest night of Winter that the once incandescent light that my dark and withered soul had ever touched drew me to her her ear. You see in all the years of marraige she'e never strayed. But I, dark surly and making love nightly to my bourbon muse as it hissed upon the ice and frosted my glass, and I held it to my lips. There was a time when only her lips could sate the mad questing ghost within me. She'd tamed the dark within, she'd taken me warts and scars and bent and surly and turned me into a godling of light and yet it still wasn't enough.
My malingering eye, my sordid recidivist eye soon wandered again. For the thirst was yet again upon me. And I turned her generous open heart into a waling onyx sore that throbbed with every breath and beat until it finally murdered her.
So, like I said she pulled me close to her ear with a grip of steel for one so slight, so frail and damned my life, my soul to Hell.
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050908
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the black browed albatross
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uh.. yeah
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050908
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egger
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*gapes for a moment.*
very_nice.
and gypsy_curse was what popped before i read. but it came very near to being blown out of my brain.
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050909
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oldephebe
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There was a point, a time in our relationship when she realized that it had become irretrievably damaged--but she would not let herself accept it. She turned towards the great wrought iron bars I'd constructed to shield me from her instrusive encroachment upon the ramparts of my soul. There from the depths of my depravity I dared not meet her questing eyes, her outstretched poetic hands, or allow her to charm the truth, the extent of my betrayal and despoilation of the marital bed. Here I was gleefully admiring the grand arhitecture of the atrocities I'd commited upon the consecration of our vows. I mean if I just confessed it'd make my execution easier right? I'd like to take a tall drink from the barrel of a Colt45. I'd want her to be my executioner and deliver the elegy.
I owed more to the woman who'd descended the winding stairs into the bottom. She'd waded shoeless into the brimstone shoals to rescue me from a living death. Somehow she managed to redeem what country, church and king had not been able to. In every conceivable way she ministered dutifully to my misery, wich I wore like an indelible oder, it poured and seeped from every vein and crept into anyone who stood within its pall.
And then the unimagined happened. I was integrated, or at least it seemed. I was "Finished". I walked and spoke and moved and breathed without the grave clinging to everything--I moved without its whieght
Until, inevitably I imploded, even in the midst of all that Seraphic joy. I don't care how clean something or someone is, how perfect the union may seem, if you're like me and you carry ancient and nameless repositories and sorrow and dark and the edge and stink and scrape of the grave seems to inhabit every word, upon the edge of every breath--it will eventually find its way back. Into...You.
On every plate, in every eye, in every sky there was this ring of Ash and in its center an ogres blackened eyes and from the eye..the one not sheathed in a moth eaten rusted blood rag--from it's eye there escaped or more like exuded this cacophony--this maddeningly descant tune. It was like the pealing of a discordant choir of bells all rung out of sync and pitched in different keys and there was a sadistic sentience to thier song...if such a thing can be said to exist.
And gone were the deliverance from the nights mad romping sorjourned through the thoroughfares of others lives and others worlds and premonitions and almost erotic etudes upon the theme of my gaudy death. In the mornings the perfumed wreaths of her words would coax me from gooms fugue.
Damn the tireless insolence of her devotions! Did I ever truly allow her to touched the bedlam that ruled within these walls of tendon, ligature and bone?
And then one day her words struck me with an unusual (at least for her) solemnity.
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050911
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oldephebe
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of course i never cheated on my wife
i just heard that phrase in a line of dialogue on some vacuous made for cable movie. and i just kinda ran with the thought. But i did betray her in a way.
I did entomb myself in the dark. she did try unsuccesfully to impose her light upon my ravaged memory and my pantomine of an existance *mired in the malady of melancholy. (*oh God was that the hieght of pretension and self indulgence!)
And so then like nails scraping against a black board, his really absurdly constructed alliteratives dribbled from his mind like rancid protein supplement runneling down the chin of an octogenarian in the throes of an irretrievable dementia.
Hey more rhetoric to induce revulsion to come. Stay tuned folks!
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So no soaring cadenzas or purple fuges here friends. Just more tediously self-deprecating lacerations.
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050914
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bird
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i damn her with each living breath
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050914
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