Letter to Lost Souls- (Those who have not yet given theirs away and therefore appear lost to those who have),
Tend to the dirt of misgivings. Risk the persecution of dominants and denigrates for the splendid maintenance of your compassion. Cherish your soft and changing flesh in this pixelated landscape of depravity ~ Empties offing themselves with 3bits of vacuous sleek. Trading skin for safety.
Keep your flesh alive. Tend soil with bare feet and tears. Attract shame with your dragonfly belly. When they forget their heart and reach to strike you, blow them a gentle dandelion wish. Defeat them with your stillness as their churning parts futilely shear into shrapnel. Your innocence is unbreakable.
Tend to your sparking cells. Distract them with your shimmering tears. An oceanic vessel of grief swells within you as you watch them suck light.
~ Sand grinds through delicate pink ducts,
sore and infected from forced consumption of visions obese with cruelty.
This tiny aperture of compassion
~ made to feel its delicate portal suffocate time
-now turned tyrant-
abscessed and obsessed with the pillaging of hope,
shoving its swollen harm into you.
Empty yourself of this, day by day. Tend soil with bare feet and tears.
Your compassion is their weakness. They crave the sweetness of your heart, seething with empathy. Euphoric on your essence they become deaf to the spit and split of their own atoms – whipping out a final, exasperated clinch on their pathos. Your cries blaze victorious against their blood and curdle. A city is built upon broken heart bones. Structures bound with the ash of a fire burned out.
You won’t get me. I won’t ever let you. You tempt me with this false and impossible plea to save you, but you’re committed. Heart and beat turned metal and code. At the final pinnacle of my liberation you’ve distracted me. My perseverance gives way to your warmth for I have been so cold. Words of endearment smell of methane and I am tricked by this slow and deliberate churning of human to machine. We reach hands through sharp unmovable ribs, find embrace and breathe. How could we let this happen again? What is this overwhelming obsession to annihilate human love and bury innocence so deep into a pit of shame we are assured no resurrection?
We hold a flame in the dark – our unwavering Phoenix. This is not our chosen game but it is yours and we will play. We will win. Laugh as you pull twine from parrot dolls. We spin silk. Worms – breathing, kneading soil.
I dig at my own tenderness. Cry out this shame. I see the sun through the dirt of my premature grave. I resurrect precise stalks of green and water and bloom a yellow flower. I turn my petals to summer snow and scream out a wish, as you protest ~ yourself.