Core

This day is spiked with heat but no warmth can thaw my icy centre. The all-pervading emptiness reinstates its authority, focusing its intensity on what now feels like my coreless core.

I feel lost, wounded and meaningless. I can’t envision my own story. Hope seems hopeless, but a strand still says it can’t be. All dualities merge in this singular track of tears forged down my cheeks.And this salty stream may represent hope, for salt is always representative of hope, so goes the saying: “The cure for everything is saltwater – sweat, tears, or the sea.” I forget whom it’s by.

Though it reminds me of one of my own, alluding to a balsamic moon that bleeds as I thread my love through pinhole stars and weave light over darkness. Stark dualities and this strange preoccupation… A search for oneness, wholeness, Truth. Pelted with night’s dark, morbid kisses that fall like starlight but sear black holes into my soul. It’s as if Heaven had been approaching from a distance for so long – at first too long, but casting a luminous flame of hope on the horizon. As its presence neared its beauty became clearer to these eyes, but the closer it got the harder the sheer extent of the beauty was to take in. When you’re not ready for beauty so extreme, it blinds you. And so when Heaven was literally upon me, I had little choice but to stub its dreams out on my core, leaving the deepest part of myself with welting sores. Holes of gaping darkness – voids – where I had been touched by Heaven… Spaces where ecstasy and wonderment should reside.

This strain of melancholy is intrinsically pertinacious, and while I hope to be rid of it in a matter of moments I realistically consider the likely alternative; that is, a succession of days at least. My pestilential mental vacillations are certainly becoming more extreme, abrupt and lasting now that I’m older. Fuck all of that though.