writing_shadows

In response to http://writing-shadows.livejournal.com/443931.html

Devastation is the word I keep coming back to.

I'm in a strange town, in someone else's haven; someone I barely know. The taste of her fills me, the scent of her surrounds me and the strength of her possesses me. This was, even by my standards, a pretty stupid way to pick a fight.

That was what I came here for, to fight her, and fuck me if I haven't already got it, near enough.

I can feel every bite as she nestles against me for the day, and it is only as she drops into torpor and I linger I realise that I'm not the only one taking a risk.

I lie for those few extra seconds, drumming out on her cold, dead skin the tune that's been catching at my mind since the first bite and coming back, again and again, to those words.

Ashes. Devastation. Cleansing.

"Ripped open and scoured clean," I said, and I meant it. I know it will pass, but for the last few moments of the night, as I feel the beat building inside me, I feel religious. I wonder if the Old Man would approve and I suspect that he would not.

The beauty of Kali.

The beauty of Durga.

My heart beats its solitary beat and I fall into darkness.