That niggling voice belies demons who whisper their disapproval. I don’t want them to hate her. It’s easier to hide away until she can return, find compassion for their mistrust.
She is too big.
The things she pontificates under duress, scare me. It is best that I learn to trust Hermes – to ask for something with a reason instead of stealing something without one.
Loss, tears open a hole — splits a scar further apart; destroying a perfectly sealed crust. Fragments of flaky skin scatter to the wind, shed a diatribe of unforgiving.
She moves in and out of the ether.
Flying through space and time searching for another wormhole, another passage to take her to Persephone, that damned alter-ego who dwells in the deep recesses of purgatory. Home is where her heart aches to return.
Demeter negotiates another extrapolation.
Manifesting a spiral vortex, she hones her parts and I wait for the impact to knock me off my feet — wake me up with a jolt of epiphany where I love the magnificence of my creation.
She does not belong to Hades.
Demeter is radiant. All the virtues I try to bestow; a culmination of strength and vitality and love to honour – my integrity in spades.
I am omnipresent.
Her mouth is shut preferring solace over a wailing lament that conjures a maelstrom of death and dying. I could do well to endure no more, wrath has held me bound.
Tonight Demeter ascends.
I return to myself and you are free to wander in search of true love and find your Artemisia, a perfect match for your Nemesis.
My ether box graunching & grinding through stargates shudders, misfiring synapses lurch from push to pull ascending descending traversing my self worth, mitigating losses tempering gains. I am giving in, my self esteem proving much harder to love and set free.
I’m trying to make peace my lover. Finding my path with you is unconventional at best excruciating at worst, leaving behind socially acceptable hopes & dreams settling in to formalities — contracts designed to pave the way; a gold lining to my pewter paradise on that long road to happiness. I stare into Aphrodite through my looking glass & blow her a kiss goodbye.
Skeleton’s eventually decay but demons still want to purge pain, set me up to fail tempt Narcissus to stray, to step away from his reflection & risk a coward’s death. I ask the Goddess for forgiveness trust my fate & fury & instinct to guide me. Psyche would lead me astray to plummet over the edge of reason — but Aphrodite will broker a deal.
Start over. My fossil fuelled forge will always find a way forward, transform blue light beams into fire, illuminate those pitchforks & burning crosses hiding in my ether; shadows that threaten to cast spells & incinerate whole galaxies, merely pseudo reflections of my reality. I choose you & take no prisoners at the same time, for I choose wisely.
There is no burden I cannot bear when it comes to you, how you see yourself is a reflection. We hold our head & hearts in their hands; their hands create a destiny for us both. We are intertwined & enlightened — a gift from God. Our souls recognise, accept & understand there is only now, the past is gone. The future is whatever we divine.
Killing me softly like that song, trying not to harm me, trying not to lie — letting me fall to see if I come back stronger. I know what you’re doing; giving me facts to face my fears so you don’t have to wear a mask.
Sinking me down further, bit by bite.
You watch me wrestle with Psyche, see the squalls before they arrive, the rogue waves looming on the horizon and try to navigate the shit storm that is my life or so I imagine her lot,
Forecast’s based upon trust, an old school remedy tried and tested over centuries of trial and error, almost on the doorstep of my abandonment. I have to want to choose my life over my life, play with fire or die in vain — seek some sort of comfort hold that pulls me close (safe), that doesn’t strangle me in my sleep.
Comes as no surprise then. Her return from the underworld fraught with danger, shed the All, her only hope of salvation and ascension coming to light; Zeus rumbling his desires expects nothing less than a fathers love in return.
I think I am forsaken.
You think I am like Poppy, offer me a chance to be apart of a real family, show me another way to heal, to find warmth and trust that I am genuinely loved where I can thrive, in time. Something I have too much of and not enough to squander.
I want to give it all away.
My job, my friend, my life in exchange for something worth fighting for, yet I am bereft, devoid and damaged beyond repair and you cannot reach me. I need more time to get over you.
Another, will begin another end
to wear me down to char. Somehow my destiny taunts me, forces me to watch and become nothing but a burdon I still have to carry when I can no longer fight and I don’t have what it takes to push through, for you.
Trust no one.
Bravery has always been a strong fulcrum point, an internal compass that leaps toward faith, a little too close for comfort in the end. My judgement will come as swiftly as Hera came forward to claim what was rightfully hers, tearing out her own heart for the sake of her enemies!
You don’t want me.
My demons are telling me I have to die a bit more in order to live but it still hurts to say goodbye. Either way, I am lost right now and there’s nothing anyone can do. You’re all in for a hell ride while I deconstruct and I make no guarantees that I will survive intact this time.
My head is trying to cling to straws while my heart is breaking and I have no where left to go, except home. The secret to survival is balancing hope and despair. I am doing my best and I am so tired.
Guflydktskyl vg j jkhlhc. Khhc khckhc. Uclhfflh. Yxjrekh. Kyeekgxkyggl. It all makes no sense to me. Just empty words in hollow spaces
People are orchids; cunts in disguise, and my tongue is already licking their splendid protruding lips like schnapps.
I’ve behaved like an orchid before – all puffed up and pouty, making holier-than-thou statements before those dreadful chinese lanterns have me boxed in, their crude hypnotic swagger acting like a prayer.
People are indeed orchids, complete with parasites and annoying bitey insects that sting and suck their way into our folds like thrips; bugs spreading their shit everywhere.
But who cares?
Give me Derris Dust any day, thrips have no feelings and orchids are such selfish sluts!
How dare they open their sub-waxy petals and assault my precious beliefs, forcing me to question my disease!
How dare they splay those wanton colours around willy nilly, when I really want to rub their ruddy faces in it!
After all, too much free love can only encourage lust, can’t it?
Lanterns are a much more suitable display of proliferation. Pyrethrum perfume is so underrated, isn’t it?
Fertilizer certainly brings us all down to earth sooner or later.
Get plucked orchid!
I try my very best not to behave like an orchid. I try even harder to walk away from those flowering displays of tall poppy syndromes, but they tease me.
I try not to react to orchids if I can help it, preferring to turn the other leaf however, like all flowering displays, it would seem that misandry is misplaced.
The stupidity of self serving dwarf hybrids is ridiculed by other orchids, who would rather still remain an orchid in full bloom.
Orchids are not perfect!
If orchids could project all my vindictive hatred towards other orchids, turning them all into a mere arrangement, I’d at least have a chance at self love.
Oh wait – I touch myself all the time!
What was I thinking? To hell with orchids having their own way, I prefer to deal with other orchid varieties whom feel cajoled into behaving like real orchids!
As far as I’m concerned, its your orchidy choice, not mine.
Same goes for feeling indignation when calla lilies become offended!
Life will always be a red hot poker if you let an orchid get to you.
Poor little victimy poor me lantern. I’m so plucking ‘offended’ by you – boo-fucking-hoo!
Heaven forbid I might have to consider taking responsibility for my own lustful thoughts!
Never try to enlighten a lantern when they don’t believe they have been or are behaving like a plucked orchid!
They’ll end up sitting on you, pouring pyrethrum from a half empty cup all over your splendid bloom, convincing you that their pollen is justified.
Typical perpetrator behaviour with an overwhelming sense of entitlement.
I attract orchids like flies, never mind the thrips. I’m finally learning to recognise the subtle difference.
One sucks the life out of you, while the other annoys the fuck out of you!
Of course I’m going to pick on you when all I hear are wasps!
I dont care if it wilts your stem! I dont care if it makes me the pair of secateurs for hurting your feelings!
I’ve picked, I’ve been plucked and I don’t accept cuts any more.