the meeting

“The memories pass through my lips as we walk together to meet the stranger under my skin, the hardened reflection of what could be, tripping over and picking up the over stuffed backpack with fluorescent promises. We hold each other’s hands, cell greets cell with wide grinding smiles, and we are guided into a chamber glimpsing at reality as reality winks back at us. Eyes dilated, a halo survives above your head, shimmering, static, crawling over the fading screen of your irises. Is this wakefulness the truth or is it removing the filter of our eyes? Nostrils flared, the deep beat ribbons its way into the veins behind the retinas and bursts open the valves of my heart. My heart throbs like a stack of pills falling by the tremble of a cat’s tail. Another line to cross and we are consumed into another chamber. The monster is right behind us swallowing smoky waves and frothy air. In the distance, amidst the gigantic tree-like trunks of our past, present and future, small mouths mutter and mumble wordless thoughts gnawing at my brain like insects over a fresh crust of old skin. My old journals fly around flapping their pages, regurgitating jealousy, anger, shame, regret, love, love, lovelessness, the ultimate solitude, following other pages towards a gaping hole, like the dark tunnel of a rabid dog’s mouth while we point and watch in awe. Let’s start barking at the outcomes and lick ourselves with self-praise. But where did you go? I have been right here. I never budged. The monster inside me made sure of that, resting assured, remaining inside you and I, to bang and bump and split our heads open, the one that rushes and drags and forgets to slow down or to wipe the spit sliding by the side of my mouth, to quell the thirst before choking on the omega of my soul, hunting thoughts that need to be caught like butterflies in a net. Questions race before the answers and questions always end up winning, losing to no answer whatsoever. There is a monster inside. This monster is weaning you slowly towards a colorful mad ugliness. We have never seemed so close yet so certain at how distant we actually are. The isolation is all encompassing, clear and desolate like the pink blue grey rocks of a sacred land. You cannot devour me whole but I could just be a slice of time in your cake of life when you resurrect me over and over again from my little deaths. We keep saying we will cross the bridge when we get there. What if we have already been on it this whole time; pause for effect; inhale, one foot in front of the other, stumbling, swaying drunk, sprinting to shake off the edge, strolling, seemingly unaware that the bridge does end and its beginning ended long ago when we dangled our feet at the rotting plank, wondering about the crisscrossing of what-ifs, dragging me down to the masks on the floor, making love to the undertones of a menacing bassy industrial sound. Don’t feed me your pretentiously poetic lines, she said. “My mouth talked to you like a tired machine. Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional”; those words are not mine. They surely are not yours. Those words you hide so well, protected behind that untouchable veil. It is all one big mesh sewed tightly by the mighty threads of damage. Time is wasted and lapsed to carve out honey-dripping words from the Jesus-look-alike that stick to my eyelashes. Do you recognize now the monster you had over for breakfast, lunch and dinner? It was you. I am you; it is good to finally meet you. Where have you been? You may come in but you cannot stay too long.”

Author: noramorta

For the first time after years of deliberation and procrastination, I move from the old fashioned pen and paper to display the consequences of my bad decisions, my inflated mixed emotions and my awkward findings on life.

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