I feel a pull toward the ocean I’ve never known before;
a hand of wind leading me to roiling, briny waters,
a crown of sea salt crystals, broken coral, and inhabited seashells
grace my fragile brow in familiar halo.
My sea sisters call me forth, beckoning me home with their song
wailing, mournful, loud and mythic to man’s ear
and yet I know their words and sob in reprise.
Is it the crashing upon golden shores that bring me peace?
Or is it in the answer that’s carried on by the waves?
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authentic beauty and nature
falsified by knife and needle
to tear apart then sew together,
the pieces of several shattered beings.
birthed from an ignorant man of science
did he see his fruit to be horrid,
and a sin amongst Nature's perfect men
that God would certainly strike him for.
but is it the creature upon the table
with broken face and deformed body—
with childish eyes and uneducated tongue—
that is to be condemned as a monster?
or is it the ignorant man of science,
that wielded the knife and needle
in creation of his sinful fruit,
who holds such a beastly soul
that is to be condemned as a saintly scholar?
nay, for the scholar is no saint!
and it is here where this one mortal did decide
to learn the secrets of God's hand
and naively bestow upon himself
such an ethereal practice—
the art of monsters!
one should not have the ambition to find the "cure" to death,
because playing God is a treacherous solitude
that no mortal should have to know
and that no mortal should have to bear.
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when the sun survives the storm clouds,
I transpire in the twilight
as a shadow
inching through the dark,
inky black
and trying to hide
am I too little,
or too much in your eyes?
Damascus raised his head at me, curious. It was a relatively peaceful time for us; no scattered papers needed for us to be cleaned, no rouge emotions gone awry, no scattered marionettes (or marionette pieces for that matter) chasing after us in hopeless abandon. To say the least, it was a still calm, one that nether of us expected, neither of us welcomed, but relished nonetheless.
I sighed. I knew his questions were going to be the beginning of the end of our quiet.
“Silly wolf.” I snorted. “If you ask, they’ll be sure to act up again.” I muttered with nonchalance, but still with a hint of caution. Despite us being a great deal away from the library, our chances of escaping are slim if a vial decides to play with us again.
But still, the stubborn wolf persists.
“You’re bothered again.” He whispers, scooting a bit to accommodate the way I curled my body into his thick ashen fur, careful not to disturb both of our sustained injuries.
At his statement, I could already feel myself waiver. It was as if I could feel the vibrations of the vials in the library shake. I snuggled closer to him, attempting to bury my head more in his fur. “I’m fine, Damascus.” I tried to reason.
“Bullshit.” He breathed out, but chose to stay quiet this time.
I chuckled. Sometimes I wonder why I chose to keep things from him. He knew everything that happened around here, and sometimes I wonder why do I even bother. But with the same indignant train of thought, I guess it’s for the semblance of pride that I try to hold onto. But even if he knew the answer to his questions, he would still be mindful about it ask me, amusing as that sounded. I guess it’s one of the reasons why I stick to him as much as possible.
I knew this would be one of our rare moments of quiet. I sighed. I might as well take advantage of the lull. So I did what I don’t normally do in this chaotic place. I succumbed to my exhaustion, to my injuries. I closed my eyes and slept.
