She took hold of my long hair, and yanked my head back. I gasped.
Trembling, eyes shut tight, I expected to feel the vicious sludge pouring over my teeth, dissolving them.
Instead, I felt spongy, amphibious hands pull my arms out straigh(more)t from their grave-clasped position over my chest.
Through a cracked eyelid, I saw two of the fluttering Cthulhus holding my wrists stiffly in their webbed paws.
Don't writhe. I will cleanse you, She said.
The flat white scars crisscrossing my arms turned livid under Her eyeless gaze, as she tilted the jug -
You bear the Mark of the Beast. I will cleanse you.
"That's not what this is!" I shrieked.
Your body is defiled, She replied.
"How? I did this to myself."
I know, She said. I saw.
She gripped my right ankle in her exquisitely manicured hand, lifting my leg, bending my knee, to examine the scars there as well. The jug dangled from her other hand, nearly forgotten.
A dry snort, maybe a laugh, from the nasal cavities of Her skull.
You flayed yourself. Deep. Wide. It's the Mark.
"It wasn't a sin. It wasn't wrong...at the time..." I pleaded.
Her lipless mouth seemed to curl into a sneer. She fingered the edge of my rustling dress, and yanked it up, exposing every blade-pocked inch of my legs, and the word, like a flashing sign, carved into my belly.
I screamed as the drain cleaner seared the skin of my arms, legs, belly, and even my feathered lips.
H.P. clamped hands over his ears. "That's the Fourth Trumpet."
A dark voice answered him, "No, Venus is still gleaming"
Beyond the open door and the flowing caustic liquid, I saw a banner unfurl in the sky -
reddish tendrils hang down loose and thick
begging to be yanked
a reminder of a low pain threshold
but i don't care in the least
just another thing we have in common
(more) never one to abandon hope i took a different byway
feet firmly planted till you come to your senses,
they cycle like the moon, those senses you hold so dear
but they are knee-deep in obligation aching for that place,
frozen time to ...luxuriate, to feel the heat of the glow,
abandon, now, and reap the abundance waiting patient,
which is more than i can say for myself(less)
Often I find my mind wandering aimlessly, sifting through the heavy clouds that fade and conceal the process of my thoughts. I speak aloud, whether others are present and listening or I am wholly alone. My wandering mind takes a life of its own. It relies not on logic, but(more) wonder. Not on answers, but questions. I see its vastness, as well as narrowness, as it contains but thoughts and the burden of clouds, but so many, so much.
I recall words I had spoken to myself not long ago, contained within a thoughtless tangent of adequate proportion. "Must you abandon the realm of reality, and rarely return? Do you not see your very being diminishing as you do so? You are emaciated, your body rarely nourished in a proper manner. You are feelingless, reaching only to the emotions contained and compacted within your thoughts. Most of all, though, you are utterly alone. There is none who understand you, none who even wish to try. In abandoning reality, untangling yourself from those complex webs that link us together by heart and soul, you have brought upon yourself the greatest horror of all."
Instances within which I pay great attention to my own words are quite rare. These, though, I could not help but contemplate. For it was not long before I could clearly see that they were not my words at all, not my own mouth producing sound, forming words from thought.
Maybe, though, this is what may pull me back. Maybe I could soon be alive. Maybe we need another to reach out, so that we are no longer lost, but found.(less)