Black of Raven

 

My Sweet Grand Obsession, 

  You were never Real. 

The space between us was some obscure illusion of a veil's touch, 

 Our soul's reaching, breathing, colliding 

In an open space of Fifth dimensions. 

I die here in the 3D, 

  Heart sputtering out, my entire Will, 

Unable to retain motivation, 

Sputtering, Sputtering. 

I no longer want this life, hurts to breathe the open morning air, so chilled- 

The ominous coughing, the refusal to leave the bed. 

What business have I? To even bother to dream? 

What lies have I promised myself to? 

Where is the light of day, here? 

Where is the undercurrent that is supposed to be the untainted part of my undamned soul? 

Are we Damned? Plighted Fools....

I just don't think I can....

Go through with this. 

Sputtering, Sputtering Out. 

Love is not Real, I think. 

It is only a series of illusions and lies we tell ourselves, when the Romantic in us has long departed. 

Women don't always have their choice. We are not all born of strength and bred to bare unbearable things; many of us breaking long before death consumes the rest of our flesh. 

You would never save me. I watched you drowning trying to save yourself. Had you noticed? 

And somewhere I think I hear an echo off current, Grandmother's voice....saying you could do better. 

And somewhere yet, I wonder had she? 

I wonder if we, 

Are syncing the same mistakes. 

If I, am stringing myself up once again in this life, 

For no good reason at all, 

Accept for Legacy- Sacrifice- Survival. 

Have I indeed, made every move, some blighted and damned wretched choice? 

Because it is only punishment here.

I see no light promised to me. 

Where in fact, has it ever been, but some illusion of my own fancy, temporary, and temporal. 

Laughing in my face, like a scoring demon. 

What of it has ever been real? 

For I think myself, must have become

A Damned Creature. 

Damp. And Damned. 

And Forever Rotting. 

I suffer in this flesh, 

Either by the grace of God, 

Or by the chains of Lucifer and his clan that has been forever on my trail. 

This House, a paradox between worlds where both know where to find me. 

Where Angels stand guard, and Demons slink about. 

She is a Black Raven, constantly dancing her death, never falling out...

And I am merely some shadow of her. 

She is something else, some Shaman between spaces...

And I am just her ghost. 

Either way....there is so little light here in this place. And I feel a need to break away. 

I can not harbor her forcefield, 

As she implodes.