He places his fingers deep into my mouth to teach me to be silent. I struggle and bite them at first but then my mouth floods with hot wetness and I cannot help but suck like a dazed hungry animal. He plays his games with my body and I play mine and, as if by some cosmic random miracle or joke, inexplicably we fit together more often than we fall apart. Removing my blindfold, he looks me straight in the eyes and in a dark flash I can see the beautiful demons within, I can see all the way through to the other side of his sweet desire to the mischief of his reckless need. With my lips and tongue, I taste the way he tears himself apart, the way his muscles twitch and flex as he raises himself up like a beast. He tells me I’m a filthy precious angel right before flipping me over and taking me as his own. We are rough, we are sweat and restraints, and yet we are a softness so naked with silence you can almost hear the feathers move on the wings of the black birds as they flutter and soar past the open bedroom window in the evening springtime light. I exist for his pleasure. He exists for my pleasure. We take our place in the endless circle of life and death and resurrection. For reasons we do not speak about because we don’t need words we only need our bodies and our fantasies, our mutual aching greed. I take him from her. I take him from all the rest and lock him away. I am his, he is mine. I take him like he takes me, with intentions to expose, intentions to deliver into the sacred hands of madness and destruction. I do not fear the fire, I would like to watch it all go up in flames around us as we consume each other until the end of time. Sing for death. Sing a hymn into the wind of a new beginning. All my life I have observed the others and wondered why I can’t be like them. Why I am more selfish than servicing. Why I am more the shadow of a coming storm than the sunshine on a grassy summer field. Maybe we are each born inside the garden we are meant to become, if only we would let our wilderness grow as it would desire. Climb its own walls, bloom its own strangely colored flowers. Perhaps the way to satisfy the restlessness inside our own hearts is to worship the ways we are different. After we have ruined each other, he lights my cigarette as he stands over me in the dark.

8 Replies to “Lilith”

  1. Hi Marie, the title of your story “Lilith” says a lot. We get lost in the mists of time. I have always been fascinated by the stories about her. A mix of myth, history, religions, a story that captures me are things that I like .Reading this article wraps me like a vine branch in autumn. You are all to discover how to enter a “dark garden”
    Much love for you!<3 ❤
    * I love the image they are so beautiful you have such a dark style in choosing the images *

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I love the myths and stories around Lilith, too. Shadowy figures, troubled figures, always seem to captivate my wild imagination…much love for you in your dark garden, dearest Soul. 🖤🌹🍁🌙 It is always a pure joy to trade stories with you, words, thoughts, images, art… ❤️❤️

      Liked by 2 people

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