Dark confession

Depression is nothing to joke about and I know my mind enough to know when a dip in the Dark Pits of Despair is coming on. I do my best to avoid it. But, when it does, I know what has helped me before. I've said it in a long-forgotten poem I wrote almost 17 years ago. I take the muck and turn it into diamonds. Not all of them are perfect, but I can see the world far more clearly through them than through my own eyes.

This is a thought experiment, brought on by a friend's post on Facebook. It gave me a reason to think about my own experience.

It will be used in the main story, eventually...

Dark confession

I am bruised and battered. 

My hands are bloodied. 

My mind is a tempest and I am on the precipice. 

The wind starts howling. It is whipping at my face, not that I can see anything. 

It is pitch black and the void is staring right back into my soul. 

The air is so heavy, that breathing is a chore. 

I can’t step back.

My skin feels tight. My flesh aches. My eyes pound inside my head.

There is no going back. 

Headfirst I jump into the abyss, half expecting to be smashed against the rocks. 

Yet, it shrouds me, it embraces me and I welcome it. 

It is quiet. It is dark. I am floating.

In the nothingness, I see you. 

I know you. I see myself in you.

You are beautiful, but I am repulsive.

You are mine to pleasure and to torment.

With each kiss, I tear your skin open.

With each caress, I rend your flesh. 

With every thrust, I break your bones.

I have healed you and I have killed you a thousand times over 

You don’t fight back, you never do. 

I am no god, but I mould you to my whim. 

Your heart, a rock, I take it.

I break it, I stitch it back together.

I water it and the blood flows once more.

The chisel in your hand, you shape me.

You impart your beauty on the wretch that I am.

The darkness may be no stranger, but it has no hold over you. 

I open my eyes to see the Sun shining through the clouds.

My hands are clean. My mind is clear.

A new dawn arrives