I Crave It

I Crave It

  My fingers knead and palm at my skin with a force so intense that the once smooth and supple brown skin of my fathers has now turned red, and jagged. They knead over and over again, in slow rough motions. Tearing away at the melanin my skin savored. My fingers grip and grab, displaying a physical manifestation of my torn and rung spirit. It's a slow antagonizing gnawing on the inside of my core, that churns my stomach over and folds it in many shapes. A steady beat of grime. In the depths of my cave in which I dwell in, I need the darkness to drape and cloak over me thick and heavy, I must knead, I must Gnaw. My heart needs it. In the desolate corner, my back is crouched and low to the ground, I can hear the screams of the dead ringing in my ears, and I become a part of their symphony. Joining and becoming one with them, the mouth dropping, cord ripping, wailing is not one that is audible. Not one word or syllable will leave my lips in this. I need the silence to shush and hush, the words the I so desperately need to let off my chest. I must scream, I must wail. My soul needs it. My breath can be seen with each exhale I take, the freezing temperatures low, causing a stiffening in the air, I have grown to find comfort in. Spiders crawl and make homes in the holes of my core. Burrowing their way into it, and dwelling there. They speak to me, and tell me tales of my childhood, and they make me remember. And I do. I remember. And I remember, and I'm sent into a downward spiral. The Earth's spins in front of me and I cannot stop it as my head become heavy and weary. Eternity in a pit, I will spend nothing less as I scamper into the confines of chamber like a wounded animal. The steady beat of pain, is heard and it sounds like the most beautiful melody. It's high pitched frequencies, kissing my ears, telling me this is the song I have heard since I was but a child. The tune drawing out, echoing of the walls becomes louder, and I need it. Without fingers to knead and palm at my skin, it would be left untouched and lonely, it awaits my pain and cries out to it to feel a relief, to feel something that my soul just can't. The hurt is something I must carry on with me, to signify my strength and resilience. I need it. The absence of light, covers and keeps my sins hidden so that no other mortal can see them. I need the terror of night, to shy away from the horrific hurricanes of sorrow. The Sun leaves me bare and exposed to all who look upon me, I'm left on a stand that I must step off from. The light exposes the disgusting scars on my arms, my gnawing and kneading, and vulnerable I seek help.  Sun tells me about the throbbing and merciless suffering that I have endured, and that I didn't deserve it, I have to forgive myself and move on. This causes a deep swelling anger within me, and it burns. It gets bigger and bigger, and I become a terrific horror. I feel my insides heat up in a fit of rage, and I throw and fling my arms around like jump ropes, unable to shake the torture that's inside of me.  That torture that I so desperately need. 

  I become enraged, a fit of fire and a trial by death. My mind becomes not My own and I'm evicted the back of my mind. The bloody words that escape me, the knives I deliver, I see it all unfold in front of me. I watch myself hand out deadly blows to the people I love. Each blow a shot to my own body.  My heart is hard and as though covered by an invisible force cannot seem to be penetrated, I try to continue to stab it, to mangle and prod at it, to get it to move. To get it to do anything. And it doesn't do anything but stand in my chest, its steady rhythm of despair. But I cannot let go of it. Its grips on me are too deep. And sorrow has set an anchor in my blue ocean, remaining there for all eternity. My ship longs to sail, somewhere. Anywhere else. But it finds no aid, for where will it go? The waves will crush and beat down on its floors, the sea creatures will come out and lure it to its demise. The anchor keeps the ship in place. I cannot sail away, I cannot stop the crescendo as it starts slow, and turns into a deafening ringing. But I need it. 

 I crave it. The spiders they crawl out and they who have once told me of my past, now comfort me. And I realize the spiders, the darkness, the gnawing, the kneading, I cannot let go of it. I need them. I need the steady shot of pain that bursts and erupts through me each passing moment, for without it I would be left in silence, and I would become truly alone. The thoughts though haunting and heinous would take a train and leave my mind with no warning. And my mind will search for it, will come out of its confines, to find the thoughts that tortured it. The beating rhythm will cease, and the strings that have snapped, will have healed, and they search for another melody only to be drawn back to the long drawn out melody once again. I cannot let go of the darkness when it allows me to tell my secrets, I cannot let go of my home. My cave that runs humid and cold, with the smell of a rotting soul. I cannot leave, I cannot pack up. My house is the one thing I feel safe in, the thing I have known, since I was young. I refused to be evicted, to be moved and displaced in a foreign town. The pain is not something I can disregard and toss aside like yesterdays news, the hurt I feel has a name, and it has it own thoughts to. Like a shadow it speaks to me in ways only the two of us could ever understand. It holds me in and cradles me, its sting of sadness touching my cheeks and holding them in the palm of its hand. Keeping me in a safe, steady cycle of unparalleled torture, that will last until the end of the age. It will remain unchanging, and give me treats of nostalgia. It wont surprise me, and flee fleetingly. Here it will stay with me forever, and I will never have to worry. Pain is a beautiful man, and the security he gives me, I need it. I crave it.