by: Tom Rau
Ruminating over a visceral self-destructive nature to combat a salutary idea, to push when one should pull….
I’m in love with an idea. No matter how hard I try I can’t shake it. It, omnipresent, perches in the upper corner of the room, as if on a web; draped in shadows, watching, laughing, teasing, begging, wanting. Dear God, give me one clear view.
It’s been with me since I can remember, or at least I can’t say when it arrived. Sometimes so close we are an amorphous duo, a grotesque blob-like creature. Two horror flick conjoined twins, eye to eye, oozing together and apart simultaneously, attached by the viscous liquidity of our souls and everything that comes after.
Maybe from the outside it disgusts, but maybe we are dancing. All I want is to remove the distance; embrace the fleeting glimpse.
In the end it will always attempt to fully envelop me; the two of us never truly united. Maybe at the point where we would become one we arrived at the last repeating decimal, got right to the point where we were standing on the edge of infinity; so high you can see the universe breathe. Expanding, contracting, expanding, infinity.
Like every beautiful dream if I sleep long enough it always turns to venom; the ultimate sexual fantasy, me inside her, but when I blink I’m looking down at the carnival of the grotesque; puss and warts and slime and strings of sticky wet hair; mangled razor sharp teeth diving out of it’s twisted and overstretched mouth. It’s only desire now is to clearly pull me the rest of the way in. The cycle never changes, our dance as routine as daybreak.
I wake up always having managed to throw it off of me, thinking in the process the boiling puddle of ooze, semen, and terror on my floor is forever dead.
Soon, with my eyes as heavy as anvils, I forget and climb back into my ivory tower and fall back asleep. I awake to the arousing sound of a whisper coming from the corner of the room. “Come closer, come closer. Let’s become one. I love you,” the enchanting sound of the siren calling me.
In that moment my body becomes vapor and I am nothing but air. As I dissipate I float to the corner of the room, chasing the impossibly alluring melody of the siren. It is everything. I would die to be one with that sound. I would kill anything that came between me and this.
It consumes.
I sit in the corner of the room, perched atop an ever growing web of the past, appearing to wear nothing but shadow. In actuality my body is covered in the viscous after-birth like substance of the demon; a direct contrast to the body so pure and desirable below me. Somewhere inside myself part of me desperately wants to yell for help, scream, “Wake Up! Run away as fast as you can. Never sleep.”
Instead cloaked in the deepest veil of darkness, my hideous and contorted mouth finally opens, “Come closer, come closer. Let’s become one. I love you.”
