At the Beginning of the Ache

Death as signature cocktail. Destruction as punchline. Death as if anyone has any idea about what life could possibly mean without it looming off in the gray smeared distance. Hills rolling along for ages, fields and fields of silky patterned shifting shadow and light. I close my eyes and squeeze them tight.

They say it’s frightening how easily horror can become habit. How grim a trick that is and how we do it to ourselves. I know I’m not for everyone. I know I say the wrong thing even when I try to make it come out right but I don’t think we should trust that anymore, do you? What’s wrong or right. You know, they used to force the left-handed kids to use their right hand. How stupidly unnatural and what a waste of time.

I know I distract you. That’s probably why you like me so much, or imagine you do. It’s a softer way of hating yourself. You should know it’s how I distract myself that I’m most afraid of. Perhaps you should be, too, but I can’t think for both of us. Life is trouble enough. Idle hands are the Devil’s tools, did anyone ever tell you that? They told me. Fold your hands. Sit on them. Keep them to yourself. But never touch yourself, splintered seed. Only to groom or to worship or to serve others. Them.

I cut off my hands in the dark and place them in the silver box they came in. For good reason. For Christ’s sake. I am forbidden to myself. This is where arousal begins its slick slithering, its low slow burning. How the witch ignites herself. I fasten my hands to one another. Slide them along my smooth thighs. Pray to be forgiven.

It wasn’t the boredom they told me about that dismantled me. It was the rise of dark fantasy which has existed since the beginning of time. Sacred Eve. Hallowed Evil. Curled and coiled Serpent. It has been the sweet, succulent curse of creativity. The Womb. The magick of the Devil’s horned vision and its swollen press upon the vein. Mouths full of degradation, mouths full of the decadent fall.

We are out there in the world they painted red for us. Watching. Splicing together scenes. Personalities. Dismantling them, reassembling body parts, mind parts, ancient symbols and distorted themes. The trouble is they fed me lies about my power and I liked them. I nursed on them and bled for them and made them true. And now they don’t seem to like it so much anymore But I do.

. . . . . .

Trying to pull apart some things which are likely better left alone. But such is the strange cruel incision of my curiosity.

26 Replies to “At the Beginning of the Ache”

  1. ‘This is where arousal begins its slick slithering, its low slow burning. How the witch ignites herself. I fasten my hands to one another. Slide them along my smooth thighs. Pray to be forgiven.’

    Is this indeed ‘… the Beginning of the Ache,’ or is it moreso the beginning of the need to quell the Ache…?

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Ugh. Another one that so beautifully lures one in. It’s the sweetest talk in disguise. Each sentence is a hook that pierces the flesh and pulls until it’s tight enough to play a tantalizing tune that further enchants with its intricate rawness that at times allows a bit of sweet tenderness in.
    We are creatures that wear multiple masks on multiple bodies. Some broken, others booking with arrogance. All fused into one. Complex. Terrifying. Cold. Warm. Hostile. Welcoming. Raging. Yearning. Lying in wait to jump into next adventure. We are both bitter and sweet. Beautiful and ugly. Calm and anxious. Laid back and intense. After a while we are all of those and at the same time none of them. Always evolving. Embracing both light and darkness. Doing whatever is needed to never be fully tamed, never caged, never chained…
    You are a fucking genius, Allison!!! ❤️❤️❤️

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I love that you say it “lures one in…” and “sweetest talk in disguise” …. it felt that way to write it. We are such a mess of things, sweet friend. You are a fucking gem for seeing that, for being in that with me. 🙏🏻♥️♥️🌹🕊

      Liked by 1 person

      1. We certainly are a mess of things, however, not just a mess a things! We are a majestic mess of things. Oh and giant heart. With a little bit of dark matter attached to it. That’s where the good stuff happens! ☺️ 😜😉 ♥️

        Liked by 1 person

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