Chasing the Dark | FAMM

Chasing the Dark

Maybe it was the taste — the rush of waves
splashing anesthesia through my veins like a blissful tsunami
wildly erotic notions snapping off like flashbulbs
while palpitations of a thundering heart race to keep pace with
plumes of smoke tinged with awe and regret fill the air
like a tragedy of physics
My hands reveal the scars of bondage to an intolerable deity
who drags my name through the mud at every casual reference
but my darkest exploits remain vastly unreported
and I’m too busy purging God from my body to care
too focused descending ladders to hell to notice anyone else
armed with a defense system trained to destroy love
and all her stupid little compatriots always praying for peace
acrid breath signals my disastrous intentions
and I’ve left impressions in the sheets beside by my only savior,
but my body has been absent —
performing apologetic demonstrations for an audience of ghosts
until the morning smashes through the windows and the city awakes
I’m collapsing to lonely sobs and drifting to nightmares
of fiendish ghouls who know all my secrets
and pursue my truths til mid-afternoon
while sweat and muck taint the floral smells of spring,
I strain torn strands of pride, succumbing to an urge to
be alert and face the world, hoping beyond reason
that no one sees the lines in my face,
that no one recognizes despair in my voice,
that not one hint of doubt clouds my confident lies
so all of my scars can remain secrets

— Michael N.

Return to The 1000 Stories Project