He owned my soul from that night on, drawn into liquid translucence that single interaction begins the decay and I lose all sense of decency and when we are together there was no other existence but our own. Wholly absorbed by the intrinsic magnetism of his persona, time stands suspended. That is how I stopped the clock for a while at least, stepping outside of my own mundanity into another life.

Dreams grow more real, creating symbols matrixed in their own meaning and the more we become involved the deeper I fall into memory but memory changed by thought. An angel speaks to me in dreams of turquoise sunsets and magenta dawns. He is my angel and stands proud and tall before me, he asks to take my hand. I have found a new father to take me to the outside of reason, this angel guides me with cunning precision through labyrinthine corridors, and those marbled halls become my temples. Now the temple fallen there lies in the dust my heart still beating more from habit than instinct.

Now my angel is far from sight, lost in the voice of the many. What tears may fall onto the ground he walks upon before I can resurrect his long dead bones? How I despise what has become of me without him sharing my thoughts. Less than alive, still I breathe, eat, sleep, and cry.

It has always been the way. See me, I am the necromancer stood in robes of black with book in left, staff in right. In the darkest hour, I call out for Hades to release his grip on the dead that I may take in another sight of their pretty faces ashen from grave dust. Skin so pale, without the light of the sun they rot to nothing beneath the ground. Lost from growing faintness I fall to the floor. Weak and tired with veins run dry, I have given all I can give. Dear God, take me before redemption reaches out its claws and changes me again.

There the crawling begins, through mazed corridors all painted white in clinical serenity. This mind that draws me inwards knows only anger and hatred but where the seed sown lies dry sand blown into dunes by harsh wind. I do nothing without time to keep the pace, measure of my significance on a world that will not listen. This sandstorm kept contained within hourglass, there is glass between me and the others and no air to breathe in here. The sand fills my mouth, choking asphyxiation forces me to breathe with this shattered mind and what I breathe is nothing, and pain expanding outwards into a universe that crawls with my thoughts.

Slit with sand, the fluidity runs away to nothing. Is this what I am? Just a crack in the ceiling stained dampness learning association with mildew and rot. Tighten the threads around me, wrapping me into dream. Soft as silk, woven into the fibre of these metaphor meanings are hollow and cold. It sings no praise for my name, below the earth and under my own mind. Let it leap forth in all its glorious meaning! I break free of the cocoon and stand arms outstretched to each side burning under the heated sun. I stagger naked in the desert and completely alone. I am sacrificing to nothing, nothing at all.

Flown into the wind it drags me to destruction. Hopes and dreams, ambition all driven out, the demons fleeing into swine. This craving, this lust for end must be satisfied, let it all crash to the ground and melt with the sand so secretly hidden no one sees me die. That I would be discovered laying prone awashed with blood, staining the sheets it drips to the floor as liquid as I. Absolute end. Absolute end absorbed into nothing, that creation that bore me into this world may weep, conscience has no place among the strong. We dare not breed into flesh so we seep into mind. We invade your thoughts and slip between the textured layers of your feelings a slow hand gently parting soft thighs. Your mouth opens to speak our words, you are not your own.

Fit into my flesh and do not leave this skin unturned, shame is carved and imagination lives through its desperate artistry. What pictures we could paint! The very nature of this canvas makes the work unique in its design. Vivid and bright this paint lives! Runs its own path no hand to guide its motion flowing freely, still it has linear form and there is some certainty in that.

Hold onto the rails! What is this fear? Falling chaos and shattered glass? This is a willed act of destruction it is pleasant and longed for, then what stops me. That I will dream no more and never find that peace I know when I lay in your arms in silent understanding but even that is a nightmare, fitting into those tired shadows between the pillars and spires. I dare not dream of you or you will move into character to stand among the row of corpses, your face will be lost to a skull and your faded skin will fall. I pray I live in your mind but never you in mine. Breathe not on my skin or let slip sacred words flatter my soul or I will dream of you tonight and that would start the decay.