with a pocket full of posies

We fly, you and I, on opposing ends of the lightning storm. We ride the winds, you and I, lost together in the perpetual round and round locked in eternal, inescapable torment; forever cursed to chase one another thru this elusive, hazy nothingness. I gaze across the mass of dark clouds, writhing flesh, and sizzling lights and there I see you looking right back at me.

You are a flickering shadow - a black and white grainy photograph. A ghost. And your eyes are gray… and they are sad, so heartbreakingly sad.

I long to escape, I grow so tired. I long to break these invisible shackles and fly away like a sparrow-hawk who freely rides the world’s wind alongside the crashing sea, yet I cannot. The dark heart of the storm, the unblinking eye, pulls us, you and I, binding us with invisible chains.

We suffer because we foolishly chose to succumb to the crimes of the flesh a long time ago in life. Our love story was a simple one. It was purely defined by the thrill of touch and the absolution of orgasm. We shared a chemical love affair, you and I, a methamphetamine-laced, beautifully sublime, tragic, black-magic romance.

And I am told there is a place reserved for me deeper within... in the seventh ring, where the harpies hungrily circle and lick their gluttonous lips in anticipation for the meal to come. But I am bound to you here. You and I. Together. Yet I am so fucking alone as I pirouette and spin in the endless winds like a discarded trash bag tossed about a dark, barren alley.

So you see, in an odd sense not only are you my greatest curse, but you are also my salvation.