The demon storm is raging in my head, love, I can feel it pulling the darkness in my chest. It’s all I can do to cage the fury within.
Then howl, my love, rip the sky from its ceiling, shred the heavens with your anguish, tear the flesh from earth’s bones and when you’re spent and trembling I’ll scoop you up into my red rock heart. There, you can whimper as the child comforted at my breast whilst I set about restoring what was destroyed. We are full spectrum, darling, cursed and blessed to house many within one body.
The chorus of voices, taunting us, tearing us, while our skin is carried on their backs. What will become of them all when we’ve finished exhaling, love? Are we to become the new demons of the waterless desert, forever searching for a host to play out our dark comedies?
We are not the demons, love. Amidst the cacophony of our collective cries, that chorus of our fissioned soul, there is but one voice that does not belong. Fear harnesses our voices, rides them as frozen beasts with perpetual grins. Rushing wind in our faces steals our breath, convinces us we’re journeying with great haste. We’re so consumed with sucking in air we can’t see the maddening circles we’re grinding into the ground.
Why wait for that final exhalation to get off this carnivorous carousel, to escape this Cimmerian cavern? Our voices were never meant for this dank cave of echoes, to be confined where their power makes them ricochet, bouncing off the walls of our prison to inflict further wounds.
Let’s buck that putrid passenger whose thighs grip our backs. Aren’t we done with his rancid fester? Acid drips from the lips of that slithering sycophant and yet we tilt our head to catch it. Gather up the children, lift them from the suppuration of our wounds and we’ll carry them to our red rock.
Whilst we waste and wither beneath self-flagellation, angels wait in sunlight to carry our voices to faint and forlorn warriors. Upon the bloody battlefield our words become their sword and shield, girding and guarding their softness against the hateful rain of their enemies. There, our strident screeching soothes to melodies, becoming a song of hope for the hapless and a triumphant chorus for ourselves.