bead of rain

For weeks we spent falling by the window , like the melancholic sweetness of rain, like the dream within the dream where an unknowable idea is born.

Origins of the unknown are inconclusive. We try our best. We are cannon fodder.

For weeks there was evil, chafed velvet slipping through our veins.

There is something unknowable. The floating ice that maintains the equilibrium within. Something that demands to be excoriated, exorcized. The source of the sensate beyond grasps of those of the earth. Remove my heart. Nothing is fixed with release, we do not know what is broken.

For weeks and even years I was touched by, molested by, kept alive by memories of the sun.

Obfuscated by humanity, a people that were not people, human without the soft slithering of the snake.

Dionysian marks on our hearts, aggrandizement of the senses. Our insect lives.

Evil lies, awake, still like water within. Ice does not survive submersion. Wither away and nibble at the flesh of your creators; may we dare to mold the universe itself.