Sing for Me

In darkness there swells the truth about you. The murky depths of the truth you wish you did not want so badly to see up close. The Devil is in your blood is black like rain is watering the dead. You seem to have built a temple you can no longer manage to maintain and so the crumbling comes naturally, almost as a relief. Destruction as the sweet jolt of violation, the art of pain as surprise. He steps in close to you and you disappear against yourself into the void. You watch for the signs. You count the numbers, you lay out the cards, you mark the corners, face each: north, east, south, west. Clockwise. Counterclockwise. Drink from the cup. Never break the circle. You bite a stranger on the mouth and take him home to find out if you hate yourself and if you do, how deep does that go inside. As long as you can hardly feel it as long as it doesn’t hurt as long as you never have to fight back. In a small room which is buried in your chest, a candle burns, melts its molten syrup down along the hard surface of the many orbiting moons. In another world beyond this hell you exist outside the binds of good and bad, as a midnight flower which opens silently into the fragile air. As an idea of what freedom has forever tasted like, eyeless, needless, breathless. Little shell, little bone. Make a wish. Take me home.

14 Replies to “Sing for Me”

      1. Thanks Allison, Of course visual artists are not supposed to write but they teach us at art school how to criticise . If you do not understand the relationship between word and form you’re quite likely to be directed to the appropriate author. And constructive criticism also- it’s easy to just destroy a person but one has to know how to make one.
        Taste is actually very complicated but can be analysed. Painting according to some people is archaic because academia takes over for the time one is directed by a tutor. After that the proof is in the pudding.
        Here’s to the tutors that taught me to express myself rather than pay lip service to an idol

        Liked by 1 person

  1. It’s such a treat and a privilege to grab a glass of smokey single malt, inhale it, take a sip, let it sit inside the mouth to unlock every taste bud, swallow it, feel the fire as it descends into the body, and then, once the warm sensation begins to spread, dive deep into your words. A perfect refuge to retreat into to find some sanity that is otherwise so hard to find in the increasingly mad world that surrounds us all… ❤️❤️❤️

    Liked by 1 person

      1. Yet it is your words that give birth to truly wonderful journeys through your magical realism where one encounters unpredictable turns and tumbles that can be at times harsh and raw and then at other times enchanting and invigorating. ❤️ Also, whiskey tastes extra magnificent when accompanied by your masterpieces. Thank you, wondrous Allison. ❤️❤️❤️

        Liked by 1 person

        1. I feel so mixed up these days, sweet Danijel. I feel I write like a lunatic like I have two opposite ideas in me at once and they repel when I want them to attract. I try to convey, I try to speak it. You are a gem to stick around. Thank you so. ♥️♥️♥️

          Liked by 1 person

          1. I adore the juxtapositions that you so flawlessly explore in your creations. They add depth, they add passion, and they add drama. They also make the world you create with your writing feel real for juxtapositions are part of human nature. So, I hope you will continue to write like a lunatic, I hope you will continue to give voice to your wild. ❤️❤️❤️

            Liked by 1 person

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