Who Are You

Ambrosia and I discuss eventual mishaps of happenings side by side admiring a plate of volcanic apples; we both lose an appetite however such is beauty of sustenance.

"They live a lie; we cannot live amongst them."

"I am suffering."

"This is nothing comparatively. They will not understand us; we do that which they do not experience."

"I am dying."

"I will fight for you."

"Do not."

"I will search for you."

"I will be nowhere."

"I will come for you."

"I will come for you."

My amber anguish settles to a slope of green land laying down his shield and weaponry. The heart I cannot beat is bleeding tears through my skull. I leap over many battling figurines dreading his peaceful surrender to be the end of us. Lifting off a chain veil I see an oncoming world I despise more than any enemy. Encountering clammy cold steel I am solid platinum fury covered in crimson dripping slayer links to my upside down star; three thousand seven crosses lay while I shake a face in between my hands. I am a petrified skeleton whose only fear is losing quartz composition. Upon a lump of horse dung there is a rider boasting a strange flag shaking to fall inside his transportable shit; he saw me and I do not give a shit for the shit he spits in between his teeth. A woman appears with her companion, one is red, the other black; somebody is carrying me again, his arms feel to be infinite dependable devotion.

"He fainted."

"What happened to all those men?"

"He didn't care for them."

"Natassja and Ambrosia...."

"Someday."

"I am an inveterate bachelor."

"Oh shut up."

"My husband is awake."

"Strawberries....."

"She is here."

"Bachelor and bachelorette are opposites which attract."

I am a vessel for his immense joy and temper of defiant rage for our conflicting souls; we are each other's sacrifice. Without him I am dead, everyone can see my bloody self, they do not express to my face for I am the walking grievance of lost men. Those who know us not communicate without opinionated disguise; we wore many to survive.

"Come to me my child."

"I shall always come to you."

"Come to me now."

"I'm coming....."

Lucidity's voice is Virgo's destiny pointing an arrow Sagittarius defends virgin thunderstorms. These legs belong to her, I align rivers to streams of admiration, guidance is a spell I succumb. Our home is a ship at bay, the color is emerald green, seventy-two rooms tattoo the sailor's body for every story unspoken or sang. My excitement sickens a little red man inside my chest; he is trapped inside a world thought to be familiar only to uncover portraits of likeness. Thirty-three images of illusion distress the stretch of a never ending moment. Adversity cultivates wisdom however naivete burdens a soldier. My mistakes are dreaming caution as I wander every delusional woman I capture for recognition beyond physical realms. My arms are Lucid as she holds me once for eternity, credible determination is witnessed, courage is found treasure, clairvoyance a gift, I discover pain, I am running until there is no end.

"They do not even bring forth their own children! They are fake to fool not one."

"That is our enemy."

"Kevinya solemnly believes they will invoke such upon us."

"I will not participate."

"Neither will I."

"Silence may set us free."

"We will fight."

"Who?"

"Whoever believes they are us."

"We must return to the appearance."

"We cannot actually die."

"They will test it."

"They will die."

"They do not come back."

"Not as they were....."

"We are prejudiced."

"We witnessed this before; they do not come back. We do evermore."

"Why is that?"

"Ours is the nature of earth; theirs is the nature of worlds."

"Worlds come undone, worlds dissolve....."

"Earth remains."

"What if we adore them?"

"Maybe a few but they may never understand."

"Where do they go?"

"Wherever we cannot."

"What if they desire to return?"

"We bring them back."

"In exchange for their return....."

"They bring us back."

"If they can let it go."

"Can we?"

"I will never let go of our children, Zen, and ours."

"We cannot hide."

"If we cannot die."

"Fear is a plague we suffer alike."

Assumption terminates our presence, presumption confuses a plan, maps disconnect roads already searched, we are lost; I am hunting a woman who surrendered but she is the ghost of whence I come, the unseen hostess, the unknown interest, the one who creates impenetrable walls for those looking elsewhere for home.

Perhaps elaboration is poetic concise decisiveness.

The self belongs to blood; to raise children is the pleasure of living without a mirror. Creation is two people who share flesh as sanctuary, theirs is an untouchable ballad, enclosure of eternity, no man or woman is permitted interference, misunderstanding is extermination. We are without to continue, this is our reason for existence, any other emotion is unacceptable. We are warriors in the land of regret; these lies are mechanical umbilical cords we smash with angry fists. We contemplate infinity while the facade of happiness destroys security. These roles are not mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, and so on which others desperately communicate chirps of masked sorrow. Our fury is disembodiment; our desire is known. We will not stop until achievement whether come or go.