Hells in Her

Her skins are the sores of my existence. No, not shores. That was for another.

Bleeding sores that are very precocious. They have a life of their own. They refuse to heal.

I refuse to let them stay. We war.

I don’t remember a time when we were not warring.

Maybe we were born to war. Some people are like that only.

Her breaths are the bane of my existence. As long as she is breathes I know she is alive.

As long as she is alive I know that I want her.

As long as I want her, I know sores of my existence will never heal.

There is a time and place for healing. Now is just not it.

Her caution is scourge of my passions. There is something so reviling about caution.

It is born to kill abandon. The death of abandon is like a piece of hell.

There is no heaven to balance it.

That hell just is.

Her existence is like a mark on my soul. Its presence is like an outsider.

It never assimilates nor consumes. It never gets consumed.

It’s just happy being what it is. A mark on my existence.

It is like an outsider who’s stolen inside my home.

My home is no longer mine, I share is with a stranger.

She’s a beautiful stranger. So I let her stay.

Worse, I love her, so I let her stay.

Her random laughter is the last nail in my coffin. It is very cruel.

It comes when I am ready to die.

She exhales her cold breath on the dying sores and begs them to revive.

She doesn’t even let them die.

There is a time and place for dying. Now is just not it.

Her occasional deaths are like the prelude to a standstill.

Except her heart is beating. And her soul is moving.

It is roving all over me, untidily.

There is no succour in killing her; no celebration in her death.

She is extremely alive. She never dies.

She is like the sores of my existence.

Everywhere I try to build a world, without her, she follows, hidden inside the rot of my faith.

She is there where no one chances to visit. She is there because she dares.

To embrace the ugly, to accept the flaws; to never show up in reality, but never abandon in dreams.

She makes me want to war her.

We’re always warring.

Some people are like that only.