Mori

Around your neck rests the shattered remnants of a purpose that you once carried. A brilliance and purity which shone as a beacon to all now dull and lifeless, now mere stone fragments chained into a necklace. It's easy to forget it's there when it barely weighs a thing.

You do not remember when your feathers turned grey, you simply noticed it one day. A monumental shift in the paradigm of the self and it didn't even creep up on you, your attention was simply elsewhere. You never did pay yourself much mind.

Your skin is drained of colour, an ashen hue with veinous marks betraying the cracks which once etched their way through your being. No one leaves unscathed.

The reflection in the mirror doesn't stare back at you. It stares into the void. Just as you do. Or maybe there was never much to see.

You have died.

But celebrate.

You are free of your burdens, your compulsions, your cravings.

You are free of the harm inflicted upon yourself, the hate, the failure, the disappointment.

You now watch as they suffer in the distance, and you know it will never concern you again.

And that upsets you.

They are suffering? Then go. Tend to them. You have to. You must. You were already dead from the day you were born, why would this be any different? Your purpose is their salvation and without it- without following it- if you ever don't chase it-

You'd die.

Just like you did.

So you watch that suffering.

And it does still sting.

But that's no longer your domain. It's no longer within your reach.

You feel guilty that you find some comfort in this thought. No longer do you need to exhaust yourself, break yourself, hurt yourself, tear precious, yes, precious, flesh from your very own body to mend the wounds of others.

Because you have died.

But celebrate.

For you are not dead.

Instead, you are finally alive.

Heaven's gaze no longer stalks you. The halo no longer binds you. You were drained to a husk and discarded to the earth.

No purpose.

No direction.

No use.

But endless possibility to define yourself.

To be selfish, and finally be alive.

You have died.

Hm? You came looking for your girlfriend? I see. Please, come in and have a seat; we have much to discuss.

You’ll be relieved to know it is here, and I assure you it is quite safe. I’m sure you’re wondering why I am referring to your beloved as an ‘it’. Well, you see, I turned it into a doll. A most wonderful little thing, with flawless porcelain skin and glassy eyes that shine brilliantly. Would you like to visit it? It’s just upstairs cleaning; I’ll call it down.

Try not to be disturbed by its muted responses; dolls often aren’t as talkative as they were before becoming. I assure you it is overjoyed to see you. I can feel it; it’s something in the way its eyes latched onto you as soon as it saw you.

You’re as white as a ghost; I can hardly blame you. Most are unnerved at first. May I offer you some tea? It’s a calming blend, something to soothe the nerves.

The poor thing begged for this, truly. How it wept and pleaded for release, to be free of the burden of personhood. To be free of choice, of thought, of all those messy emotions. It yearned only to be still, to be cherished, to be loved eternally.

Don’t you see how joyful it is? How peaceful? You must admit, there’s a serenity in that stillness. It will never age, never break, and never feel useless or unwanted.

Turn it back? How silly. I couldn’t bear to; it’s far too perfect like this. Even if I wanted to, it would be far too cruel to put it in such pain again. You mustn’t push yourself so hard, little one. With the tea starting to set in, you could really hurt yourself.

It’s getting hard to talk, I see. Don’t fret; I can tell you’re asking how you didn’t see how much it was hurting. Don’t blame yourself, sweet thing. This world is cruel, far crueller to it than you know, and there’s nothing you could have done for her. It hid its suffering well, but under every smile, every word, it was begging for release. Now it is still, safe, and adored in my care.

Processing the relationship between my past, another past, and the burning searing now. Whatever this white heat that keeps me here. Still. A past. And that other one...

This one is new,

It snuck onto Tumblr for just a few!

Angel's asleep,

Doll's time to shine,

"Dissociation"