The Conceptions of Eden

To The Loved Ones, Especially The Significant Others

Of those who suffer from an eating disorder.

The heartbreak and frustration we feel over our EDs is great. And yet, to you it is a demon in it’s own right.

 It is the silence that sleeps between you and us.

The knowledge that another entity holds us closer to it than you can.

It is hearing the lies that we have been told, fall from our own mouths.

It is knowing that the monster is beating the hero.

It is the fear that you may actually be left to face the world alone.

It is having no real enemy to lash out at.

It is watching what you have worked so hard to build, tear itself down.

It is fearing that everytime you say goodbye, it will be the last.

It is watching, distraught, praying we will run back into your arms and let the demon go.

It is knowing this fight may never be won.

It is confusion. Knowing if you tell the truth we will not believe you. Knowing if you agree with our truths we will ruin ourselves with greater motivation.

It is the madness that is helplessness.

It is trying to hold a beautiful woman or man, but rocking a sobbing child.

It is being family.

It is being friend.

It is being lover.

We are nothing without you. In the moments you feel you are to no effect, know that with your absence, we are alone with this monster, and we are blind, deaf and paralyzed.

Thank you for sharing what YOU see.

Thank you for telling us YOUR truths.

Thank you for carrying us through.

Last Night In My Underwear

“The day before today,One day, making tracks

In the prairie of Prax,

Came a North-Going Zax

And a South-Going Zax”

You refused to come in. You stood there stuttering, trying to force what you most likely attempted to rehearse, out of your mouth and into the night air. But how does one say an unwarranted goodbye confidently? How does one admit they are backing out of the game early, to hide, to abandon ship… You chose now so you won’t have to see me in May I imagine. I also imagine you felt you were doing the big thing, coming to my door. A for effort I suppose… Last night in my underwear, You said “I can’t be friends with you anymore. I know you need closure on things so I came to give you that.” What a funny girl you are. Ten days ago you sounded like this,

Me: “Oh btw,I wanted to talk to you because (this may just be me)but, i dunno…”

You: “?”

Me: “i feel tension. Like tangible tension between us?”

You: “dunno, things are fine on my end”

Me: “you sure?”

You: “positively”

Me: “not mad upset hurt or otherwise feeling badly towards my lonesome?”

You: “nope”

Me: “hmmmm”

Me: “maybe its the long distance”

You: “very possibly”

“And it happened that both of them came to a place

Where they bumped. There they stood.

Foot to foot. Face to face.”

I knew. I saw it in your eyes. You sounded the same as you did a little over a year ago. Raw, bitter, indignant and wounded. I have spent the last two weeks angry at you for the injustice of your rude and condescending remarks. Your spiteful behavior. I was waiting for things to develop, to see where they went. And then you showed up at my door and cut the cord. Last night in my underwear, You said, “It’s unhealthy for me. When I actually thought about you having a kid with him the other day I broke down.” You had tears in your eyes. It was the same old story. And yet, Ten days ago you sounded like this,

You: “I’m actually doing wonderfully”

You: “I’ve really recycled and reexamined a lot in the past 6 months”

You: “and am very pleased with how the journey is going”

Me: “well I’m very glad”

Me: “I love it when you’re happy”

But you don’t love it when I’m happy do you? No. It makes you mean, turns you into the beast that lives just under your skin. Me happy equals you unhappy. So now you’ve run away. You can’t handle me moving on and having a life, and yet a little over a year ago you told me you didn’t want to be with me anymore because I held you back, took you down a few notches. I was too tied to you still, you wanted to move on, I was a raincloud on your little rebellious parade. Forgive me for being so confused by your hot and cold personality. I’m not much like you. Ten days ago you sounded like this,

You: “i think when you are uncomfortable and scared is when you grow the most. need is the mother of invention, so to speak.”

Me: “I think if that were the case I’d be old and gray by now. I’ve had my fill of uncomfortable and scared. At least if that were the case for me.”

You: “Maybe, I think its different types of discomfort. You were trauma based which rarely leads to the kinds of growth we’re talking about. It’s the more lonesome types at least in my experience.”

Oh how insulting. I was “trauma based.” As if you even know what that means. Because really what does your “experience” amount to, that you can cast judgment on the type of pain I went through that you can say it’s not enough for me to have grown? I have already had my fill of pain, now I want to live a normal life , be loved, have fun. And yet because you have yet to be tested you believe we should all still be throwing ourselves into fire. We broke up. I don’t mean for this to sound as cruel as it will but I’ll say it anyway. There are far more hurtful and painful things than a high school breakup. Don’t think because you lost things in your life that you have endured enough to lecture others on their own pain. In the grand scheme of things you know nothing.

As you stood on my porch voicing “I can’t be friends with you anymore.” I wondered who it was out of the two of us who has not grown. You boast of your leaps and bounds in development while you drag me down a few notches on the side, all to accomplish what? Is this your idea of growth? Running from your problems, hiding from your struggles? But you’re brave and strong aren’t you… because in comparison you can run farther and faster than I can. At least I can face my difficulties.

I sat around with the friends of mine you hate so much (truly you hate anything I have don’t you?) and they were kind and firm about this, about you. Especially Ryan, in whom I have seen such utter growth. I admire Jen so much. She has always known of your dislike for her, but she never speaks badly about you. She has never treated you rudely, acted selfishly about you’re presence in my life. She supported me letting you back in with only her concerned warnings. And yet you talk badly about her, view her as lesser and weaker. We are all so very weak compared to you. And as your favor passes and comes ‘round again we all learn a little more about how inconsistant you are.

 You lack the strength of commitment. You “recycle” everything in your life. What I have chosen to do with mine is no less valuable than yours. I have the strength to work for a relationship, to face the faults I have in it, to learn from my mistakes and fight for what I love. The only thing “unhealthy” for you is yourself.

You: “…partying won’t let you grow, that’s just immaturity”

Followed by your stories of drunkenness and one night stands, your worldly friends and your newest fling, your reports on the largest amount of alcohol you’ve consumed. You are so very blind. But you have control don’t you, so much control you say. You control everything you do, you have it covered. Last night you said “It’s impossible for me to be friends with you when I can’t move on and you’re doing exactly that.” Ten days ago you said, ‘its not like any of us are exactly “adults.” You’re projecting. Making excuses, trying to bring me down so you don’t feel the severity of this. I’m moving on because that’s what adults do. You’re stuck and clinging and grasping to any little measure of building yourself up. You put down my friends and my family, my life and my relationship, all to prove to us that you’re better.

Ten days ago you said ‘Its a shame you cant take a vacation from marriage and live on your own that would help. I think alone is the key but that’s just my philosophy.’ Well then live with your philosophy, make it your new best friend, you were never more alone than when you decided to give up the people who love you. Congratulations on your big decision. What you said to me then is, you don’t agree with commitment, it’s a weakness to you. You take vacations from everything: your lifestyle choices, your relationships, your careers and your family.

Last night you said, “You have a support system now (gesturing to David) I need a few months. No I don’t want you to contact me anymore, maybe I’ll contact you when I get to AIT.” But what you really said is, I’m not brave enough to say I never want to see or hear from you again. I was just pretending all this time because I felt guilty and needed to support you. I’m free to leave now. What you really said was, maybe when I feel better about myself we can have a relationship. When I am far away and can’t see your face I can be honest with you. When things are on my terms and I feel in control you have permission to be in my life.

Last night in my underwear I said, “I’m sorry you feel that way. I love you and I’m always here if you want to talk.” I hugged you goodbye and went inside. And now I’m explaining, I’m not interested in investing time and love and energy into someone who can cast me aside so quickly. I didn’t need your support, but I did want your friendship. I made the mistake of believing we were both mature adults who could SHARE in each others lives and company. You’re not ready for that yet. I made the mistake of trusting you again; that you were to be counted true, relied upon, and were dependable. I did not need closure; you gave it to me when you left the first time. I cannot even summon up feelings of loss. Because truly… you left a long time ago.

 I am sorry you undervalue the people in my life, who are far more mature and dedicated than you are.  I’m sorry you will forever be making excuses in order to act this way. There was no reason for your actions. Only that you were afraid, only that you run from the very things you claim help you grow, only that you are coward on the very basic levels of human experience. You are not facing your fears, you are hoping to occupy yourself with something bigger, you are looking to bury them beneath a uniform. And I would like for you to know that I am not as you seem to think, I am strong and I am sorry you are stuck in a past that will not bear you any kindness.

Well…

Of course the world didn’t stand still. The world grew.

In a couple of years, the new highway came through

And they built it right over those two stubborn Zax

And left them there, standing un-budged in their tracks.

I am going east now, dear, towards the sun, not south and not north. I won’t be caught stuck facing you for the rest of time, as my life goes on without me. I would rather be an elephant than a Zax.

“And it should be, it

should be, it SHOULD

be like that! Because

Horton was faithful!

He sat and he sat!”

If I could only unfasten your skin

Our skeletons, the rotting easels within us all… If I could unfasten your skin like he unfastened my dress, if I could slide it down your frame, what would I find? I’d take my time revealing you. I’d take my time with every inch. I’d plunge my fingers deep inside your scarlet drenched tissue, grabbing fistfuls of your dripping muscle. I’d rip it all away, portion by bloody portion. I’d claw my way past every tendon, every fleshy piece, until I exposed your lovely bones. Your bleeding bones. 

Breathtaking, their naked presence, the lattice below your filthy shell. Tinted by the hue of blood they would convene like rivers of strawberry milk. I would have you touch them; charge you to memorize them, your own bare ivory supports, that you may know the feeling of exposure.  I’d compel you to slide your fingers through the spaces between your fragile ribs, curling your fingertips around the ivory bars, grasping your own pallid cage.

Once spreading out under your skin, like alabaster scaffolds, then laid unadorned save for the lurid stains of blood. You would be beautiful. Your pale bones, once concealed, revealed to the open air, helpless and vulnerable, would be like virgin, ashen armor, explored for the first time, presented by my capable hands.

 I could show you what lies beneath your superficial existence, grant you the depth you’ve always dreamed of. If I could only show you the milky framework beneath your skin, reveal to you everything you’ve been searching for. I long to show you the hidden architecture within you, lacing out like snow-covered branches, webs of creamy tunnels, trellises constructed to uphold your fragility, as white as pools of vanilla ice cream.

Perhaps then you would know yourself like I do, perhaps then we could be bare together. If I could only make you see. If I could only unfasten your skin.

Contraterrene

Bear false testimony now, use your precious words

Write about my lack of love, and what I don’t deserve

Cling onto your bitterness and archive me in shame

Build yourself up, tear me down, in the end it’s the all the same

I fly

Does my strength offend you now, or are you just confused

Are you unsure how to handle my refusal to be used?

I’m sorry for your hatefulness, your anger and your spite

It’s a shame that you must carry that, throughout the lonely night

I fly

I gave you peace and sacrifice, I came on bended knee

I offered both my pride and love, it’s a shame you can’t see ME

Despite your claims of openness you have not ears to hear

Your actions yielded pain despite intentions so sincere

I fly

I’ve faced trial beyond your means; indeed this mark is small

You cannot make me break and bend; you shall not make me crawl

Yet, merely wounded by your words, I am neither right nor wrong

I do not sit in stubbornness, I cannot play along

I fly

In the end I did all I could, to remedy your loss

I listened to your pain and grief; I tried to pay the cost

When you were hurt by my words I came contrite and true

I don’t know why I expected that, in return from you

I fly

Since you cannot say the words, and harbor your contempt

I will say I’m sorry for the time you lost and spent

I did not realize you could not find, value in me at all

That I was such a waste to you, so worthless and so small

I fly

Yet like winged beings of old, I shall not be weighed down

My pain and distress on your hands are fading like the ground

Grieved and heartsick tears of mine, drop at your wounding words

And yet the sky is promising, for my heart flies like the birds

I fly

Because I placed it all in you, and I have no regrets

I can let this flee from me, my dénouement of forgets

Neither you nor any soul has robbed me of my will

My courage and my spirit stand, I am your ally still 

I fly

Yet if goodbyes and finalities are all you offer me

I’ll count this as time spent trying, to be all that we could be

And at last I’ll spread my wings and take into the sky

For nothing can deter me now, and in the end…

I fly

Green Eyed Poison

     Once upon a time, not so long ago, we were two lovers, standing hand in hand, gazing into each other’s eyes, locked in sight and mind. Unified and impenetrable, we formed our own protection, barring fear and heartache from our thoughts. But then, distracted by your honesty, I faltered… and my eyes were drawn away to our surroundings.

Glittering, glamorous visions surrounded me like kaleidoscopes, opulent and enchanting. Tendrils of golden blond hair spun like streamers, melding with delicious brunettes and vibrant reds. Sparkling glitter caught the corner of my eye, silks and satins caressed fresh and delicate pale skin. When I was once enclosed in you like frosted glass, everything was out of focus around our forms. Placed inside a shielded capsule, I was content in not knowing what bordered us. Suddenly parades of shimmering hue and variety whirled around me like displays of paradisal birds. Oh you must see that… can’t you see that?

My old and new knowledge of the ones you’ve tasted crept around me like quickened Ivy. You’ve sipped upon them like flavored teas: Crème, Lemon, Raspberry and Cinnamon Spice. A poison, a disease, as green as my eyes took hold then; it bent and folded the notions in my skull like origami. Paper swans took flight around me, plumage in snowy flutters; metaphors you won’t ever relate to mock my mouth.  When would the irrationality surrender, when would the sights and sounds release me?

My heart twisted and constrained, contracting in painful knots like the ones that fasten the cord around my wrist, our wrists. And like a wound disturbed, the sensitivity of those notions swelled like an infection around my mind. Not a chance to heal, every incident scraped opened a barely sealed trench, separating the surface and exposing it to the pain and septicity. A deep notch, born of some emotion, that cannot be explained burned like fire for too long.

“What flavor am I?” I wondered soundless as a tomb, “Do I taste best? What colors do I own upon this earth?” You gave everything. If it was not enough then I was a spoiled thing, that your love and satisfaction be wanting still to me.  But it was neither of those things that were lacking. Not a single complaint could be whispered in your ear, for I possess a King among the Princes and I am fulfilled. It was some nameless sense of loss that overtook me in those moments, though not a single thing I possessed had been removed. The immensity of them and the meagerness of me became all too overwhelmingly hopeless in my heart.

Threatened and frightened by nothing more than lovely ghosts, I was haunted and plagued nonetheless. They are everywhere, they surround you. You must surely see them and desire their exploration. Once I could only see our two forms alone. But then my eyes unlocked themselves from you and I saw around us all the beauty that the world possesses. Oh you must see that… can’t you see that? Or were your eyes still bound to mine; are they still bound to mine? Why do I wander while you wait, why do I fret while you are still… and why I am so frightened of what you truly desire. Am I so hard to convince that it is me?

Time has passed. Forcefully I have willed my gaze to return to you. There is safety and compassion in your embrace. But I still wonder, I still question. Can you calm my racing mind, can you soothe the worry and the latent suspicion in my heart. Can you take me as I am and make me better, make me stronger, can you forgive me and protect me from this poison? Can you wrap me up in you and turn my eyes away, can you shield me until I can stand alone. To the end of our days will you take these fears away and bear with me, my apprehension and my uncertainty?

…

I’m supposed to love you but I hate right now, hate you somehow. Sewing up my lips with rusty wire, I hope you burn, I pray for fire. I want you on your hands and knees; I want to make you feel like me. I wish you were never born, I look at you and think with scorn, You love me so you say and mean but I don’t believe what I have seen, I don’t want your anything, I’ll feed it to the pigs, I’ll scream, I hate you with every fiber now and wish that I could leave somehow, I’m glad you’re gone and glad you’re fond, of all the things surrounding you, because it helps me hate you more and somehow that makes it true

For a few momentshoursdays I can feel like this. You will never know.

Better

  Despising you for the innocence you managed to retain, I lie in a bed of trashy self-imagery, coiled like an unborn child in wasted life. Your respectable demeanor, draped about your too thin shoulders like silk; not even scrubbing with shimmering brillo could render me as pure as you… You have an abundance of cleanliness in spirit, purity of the metaphorical frame.

 I think of you in pale alabaster shades, colorless as your reputation, unmarked by the hands of men, unsoiled by the world. I could gaze on you for hours, but could never dwell upon a mirror. We are not equal, nor will we ever be. Somehow through your brown eyes I possess you, stare at my own self as I imagine you would.

 My scars collect like dirt on my pale skin, the filth you must surely see, manifesting into tattooed accusations through your eyes. I am granted the worst visions of myself I’ve ever had. Suddenly I see the glitter around my eyes dance into letters, forming spangled words like Slut and Whore. Chipped nail polish brags of cheap and shameful thrills, the pet of predestined monsters.

Every flaw magnified, I stand before you naked, despite the distance; your eyes pierce through photographs like spirits of despair. All at once I am envious of the love I’m sure one day, you will enjoy; the type of bareness and surrender you will cherish in heart shaped memoirs. The kind of love I still can’t enjoy, you will be able to fully appreciate and experience.

 I am jealous of this knowledge when I lie wrapped up in his sheets, after making love. Knowing you would feel perfect while I’m feeling empty and unfit, despite my surroundings. I am like a wealthy beggar. How could this still be? I am condemned to feel misplaced shame and disgrace, feelings that don’t belong where they are felt. Surrounded by perfection and love, how can it be that I feel soiled and impure? Poisoned with thoughts that you would be so much more enjoyable, I wonder how you manage to creep into this life I made with him

Sentenced to a life where my body is not mine, I watch you dance in soft patterns under and over everything I’ve ever wanted since it happened. Stained glass remains the only reflection I can bear, never seeing the glitzy nightmare that I am rendered.

 I wonder what it would be like to command such respect, to have such dignity and decency. I am ashamed of myself when I see you, so admirable, virtuous, satisfactory and deserving. Worth so much more from others, worth so much more. Your pity is more dehumanizing, more painful than they ever were. I am just a sad concept, an unfortunate example, and you rise higher with every glance you take.

In the end, when I step away from your painful big brown eyes, I am simply Little Leigh again. “Little Leigh, On Her Knees.”

 Memories I can’t escape, faces I can’t forget, surround me as I lie beneath your pedestal.

Stung

Entertaining thoughts that would have never graced my psyche prior, full of faces I don’t know and bodies I can’t belong to…it flooded my mind. Would you have wanted what you wanted if I was someone else, would you have tarried into that sinful place if you were with her instead. Would she draw a few more ounces of respect because she’s pure, would you give her more consideration for her lack thereof.

Not fair, not fair, not fair, I cant say those things. I close my eyes and see, in worn out film, the laughter and the shadows, figures wrapped in lace and plastic smiles. That doesn’t even make sense. What does she  have to do with it? I don’t even have anything to do with it. And yet…

 Did I cross your mind? Suspicion, so suspicious, I am so guarded, disbelieving, apprehensive. Terrified of what’s left out, the missing pieces, belonging to empty spaces I can’t see. The desires of the heart, deceitful and sinful, and so how can I condemn what I condone. Yet I never… you never…  this wasn’t what I had in mind.

Reasons to starve, reasons to hate,

Reasons to wound, self-desecrate,

This is what it means to me and it doesn’t depend upon your feelings.

You don’t have to know;

Don’t have to agree,

Because what satisfies your mind

Isn’t satisfying me

How I wish that I could be satisfied by the pain in your eyes, your tears, the apologies on your lips. I’m like an empty Vase and I just keep filling up, with the words I’m drawing out from you, the guilt and discomfort. And I feel bad. You love me, that’s all that matters, this isn’t what it feels like. I know you, I know you… But as much as my forgiveness absolves you from your sins, It cannot make the ache disappear or the worthlessness I feel vanish from my heart. These are old wounds reopened.

 For the first time ever I believe that sometimes ignorance is bliss. Yes I would rather not have known that I am small and unrefined, that I am deficient, insignificant, faulty, unsatisfying. Not worth the extra consideration, not worth the second thought, not worth the loyalty, the faithfulness. What am I? I feel so very very very small. I know that’s not fair. But its how I feel.

It must be that word I hate, that word I replace; Hurt. Because even now tears are not absent and I question everything. Why must it be so deep? Why should it abrade my heart so much? Why am I so fragile in your care? I can take on iron, my blood runs cold as ice, my tongue is sharp as fresh cut glass and my resilience matches might. And yet a single word from you can tear me down to naked flesh, just a woman, but a woman no less, you have the power to destroy me.

I close my eyes and all I see, is you with someone not like me.

I guess time is in my best interest.

Most Obvious Secret

The color of your eyes betrays me in any written or spoken sense. But every time I go to write about you that is the first thing that comes to mind. Your eyes and their color. It is a color that reveals you entirely. And I cower from revealing you because I am lashed out at from the others. From everyone. Perhaps so very rightfully so. I do not condemn them for their feelings. But I am condemned for mine.

There is nothing to this, and yet it must be unsaid. I have a life now that does not allow the luxury of freedom of speech. I have too much that may be hurt or altered now. I have a new chance, a new love and a new future. These things I safeguard with my life, and with an anchored tongue.

 I once lied to you out loud, my statements of love so free, and now I say in silence what I have no right to say with my voice. The irony of that is so painfully recognized. Now I tell in quiet and in honesty what I once proclaimed in deception and in sound. Yes, I love you. I do now. Through hating you I learned to love you. Tearstained car rides, lying down in the back seat, in the middle of night. It was still warm, still summer, and yet only then was I feeling your loss.  The loss of you.

Now I spend my days rebuilding bridges back to your heart. My love is an appreciation for your soul, the one I damned and tarnished. Our bodies as they share the quiet spaces between us are the things that speak of these feelings. We share stillness and deep thought, we share a knowledge of who we are. I am never so certain or so clear minded than with you. You make me aware of everything I am and what matters. We are apart from all the others. We share volumes in our glances and in the absence of words you still hear me; I hear you.

We were born to balance each other I believe. Ying and Yang, good and evil, right and wrong. Our rolls switch constantly and like two elemental titans we are pitted against each other.  But we are the rivals who meet in battle and shake hands, the ones who share a drink between the blows. We are opponents of mind and spirit and there is affection in such ties. We spot the weaknesses in each other because we are looking for them, but by pointing them out we teach each other how to grow.

As iron sharpens iron we make each other better. And our loyal companions will never accept such a bond. Not even our most loved will understand this. They succumb to jealousy and anger, spite and selfishness but above all else they thrive on loyalty. Because despite the way we appreciate each other we have taught them how to hate for us. We have acted in such convincing ways on our own behalves, drawing them in and displaying for them the secret vices and flaws that we have learned about each other.  Now they fight while we are at peace. We started a war that they have yet to stop fighting.  

But I can never truly express how I know you, or the joy I feel when I can grant you understanding. Who knows you? Not your family, not your friends. Do I? Never fully, but faintly well. I appreciate and care about your heart and your mind, about your soul and your life. I want to know you as much if not more than I ever wanted to harm you. But you are not below me any longer. No. We are equals. And in that I find the greatest of all pleasures.

I wish that I could share my joy, but the only one who would receive and accept it now is you. I tell you I had missed you, that I am grateful for these newly crafted bridges. But truly I love you, in a sense no one seems to understand. You are precious to me. I tell you this in the only way I can now, hinted and in silent gestures. I am satisfied at last.

And now my bad days are never truly bad, and my good days are never truly good. Both of these are your doing. For on the days when all things are wretched you afford me some peace of mind and some much desired company.  On the days that are good, I must keep you absent from all those who surround me. They do not understand and they cause me pain and guilt for my own pleasure. But perhaps in these gray days, not yet black, not yet white, I will be finally content to be alone. These two separate lives I lead contrast and clash, but in silence I find an in between. And there I find peace.

Your eyes are blue. Blue like the morning sky. I am not in love with you but I do love you. And I am content to never tell you, because deep down I think you know, and perhaps one day this will not be such a hated bond between us. I have grown to understand it and appreciate it. And perhaps one day the world will too. I wish for better, hope for nothing and as always, I am grateful. You are my most obvious secret. And I am not so secretly yours.

From The Womb To The Coffin

This is the witchery of infantile necromancy at its finest, drawing the cleverness from the dead to rule the living.

From my petty sanctuary I gaze below me to the forests of the world. I watch the masses below, the cannibalistic fools, who gain knowledge from the failings and experiences of their betters and their formers but not their own.  They devour the hearts and minds of grave rested souls, who once knew first hand of pain and price. And with the memories and passions of these passed on lives, they spin their own words, merely shadows of the dead forms they once belonged to.

Of misery death and sadness, of the fellowship of winter… they knew so very little. And yet, feeding on the ones who came before them and beside them, they boast their vast knowledge of wisdom, of what perceptions they found there amongst the corpses. Sewing unfitted words together and wearing them around their necks, I watch them form heathen circles around their pagan notions; they dance like the gods with great exclamations of profundity. But I see children and nothing more, repeating the words of elders; I have seen with my eyes what they must summon from archaic pages.

They play dress up with leftover, hand-me-down ideas, drawing inspiration like the healers drew poison from a wound. But they draw from the dead and not the living. They use black invocations to reopen once shut bindings, tearing asunder the stiches which had guarded haunted men. Red stained lips suckle on parted flesh, the wounds that leaked its life, complexion already lifeless from its vices. Why do you nurse from sickened things and snatch inspiration from the departed?

Their words sing of life and love, yet they can never know them whilst they frequent long laid graves, while they tarry among the dead.  They exclaim in religious rapture, the beauty in its bleakness, a chill that never tasted their souls until this moment. But soon the eagerness of greed and egotistical exclamation will turn to a desire so depthless it consumes them.

The decaying visions of fallen men will drain the light from their bright eyes and the festivities of wonder will grow dark. What would I find if I too, fed on the remorseful concepts of things that I know of, yet never ventured to experience? Dead inspiration and inclination is that which is never tested, never wrought.  To know and never live is to go from the womb to the coffin, haunting the residences of greater ones than you. For all the evil I have touched, and all the pain and sacrifice I’ve tasted, I may at least proclaim my wisdom mine.

Their stagnant words keep on repeating, delicious nouns piled atop each other like fornicating witches; the words of their souls translate to rituals and rites, spitting quotes of the dead to living faces. Heathen, unconsecrated grounds, where dead men talk through them, in some kind of cold possession, yield regurgitated proverbs, stolen brilliance and plundered pains. They will not jump the iron fences, the guard about the dead, to join the trials of the living and to nurse upon new wisdom.

 There is nothing to be found in them, but the skeletons of men, who drew upon their own lives to live. Their gardens are nothing but collections of those who came before them, with enviable wit and understanding. And they feast upon it; feed upon them with such fever that borderlines obsession, these dark ones who dance along below me.

From my petty sanctuary, here in the light of life, where the birches and the willows nourish me, I draw upon my own time, my own life, my own experience, and leave the black arts to the magicians and the seers. One day when I die I may lie within their gardens. I shall never taste the revelment, the festivity of heathen knowledge, and yet, in the end … they may taste of me.