She leaves me frequently, without warning-
this capricious lover of mine.
Without provocation, she deserts me;
without rhyme or reason she leaves me to
complete her madness in the dark.
I forget often that she is Master
and I mustn't question her actions
even though they leave me at a loss.
As I standby, and learn to dissect myself
like an insect speared on a peg,
or a corpse rotting in some grimy catacomb,
I must recite the mantra:
she is god. She is god.
Fragments of days pass by me
and I, in a haze of half-forgotten memory, cannot piece together
any singular moment in time
that could connect to anything else.
There is only her,
and her spindly hands upon my throat
before she finishes her rounds
and smugly skips away.
I try fruitlessly to pick up the
shattered remains of what was once a human life.
Her face is tattooed on my soul.
Her voice echoes in the lonely halls of my memory.
Her touch is a scar upon my existence.
I cannot salvage a thing.
And then, just like the tide,
she strolls back into my life;
also without warning,
without any trace of sense.
And I collect her in my embrace
and she sighs as if she is bored.
Her distant demeanor is upsetting
for I know she'll soon disappear.
And though I yearn to bind myself to her very flesh
I know that would only kill her.
Unlike me, she always was,
and shall remain,