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Tuesdays...
12/9/03 03:05 am...can't hold a candle to this, my only, my dearest, my sweetest thing with the deepest, darkest secrets you think you have hiding behind that sincere smile. This is the only true thing you've ever known, the only knowledge that has ever proven truly of value to you in your long, long lonely life...
...I allowed you just an hour, one silver hour, in which to lay down your arms and seek out that last tired peaceful painful moment before you reached the end of it all, and while wandering desolate in my gardens, you found what you were looking for all along...
...you carried your scars like fine jewelry, paler traces on your too-pale skin, limning out the straight paths of old wounds and twining gashes of older surgeries. You carried them like a candle against the pain of the world, like a lantern you could use to illuminate your dim joys and few frail happy moments. You can see what I have gone through--see, here it is, left on my skin. This mark was a battle lost, this line a wound sutured badly. It's all here, down to the shaving-scrape I gave myself this morning. You can see it so clearly; how can you not understand? It is your mantra, your safeword, your secret code that no one wants to unravel...
...here in the oubliette--at last, you permit yourself a measure of silence, nothing more than a breath long-held allowed to drift from your throat, rasping as it slips past your tongue. There are no eyes to shout amazement at you and your long suffering years, no lips to praise your mighty endurance in the face of unending agony. There is nothing here but the not-quite-darkness that threatens to expose you to your worst enemies your fears and terrors and empty nightmares...
...but there are whispers that you can hear, if you listen just a little closer to the sighing of the draft in the tunnel, and those half-hidden voices will tell you everything you ever wanted to know. They are the answer to every wish you kept safe behind your eyelids, private to the point of futility. The pale wraiths that are the questions and tearful prayers that have accompanied you this far into the paths of your mind will be disintegrated before the clarity by which those murmurs will lead you into...
No. I can go no further. This is not what I wanted---this----
...I allowed you just an hour, one silver hour, in which to lay down your arms and seek out that last tired peaceful painful moment before you reached the end of it all, and while wandering desolate in my gardens, you found what you were looking for all along...
...you carried your scars like fine jewelry, paler traces on your too-pale skin, limning out the straight paths of old wounds and twining gashes of older surgeries. You carried them like a candle against the pain of the world, like a lantern you could use to illuminate your dim joys and few frail happy moments. You can see what I have gone through--see, here it is, left on my skin. This mark was a battle lost, this line a wound sutured badly. It's all here, down to the shaving-scrape I gave myself this morning. You can see it so clearly; how can you not understand? It is your mantra, your safeword, your secret code that no one wants to unravel...
...here in the oubliette--at last, you permit yourself a measure of silence, nothing more than a breath long-held allowed to drift from your throat, rasping as it slips past your tongue. There are no eyes to shout amazement at you and your long suffering years, no lips to praise your mighty endurance in the face of unending agony. There is nothing here but the not-quite-darkness that threatens to expose you to your worst enemies your fears and terrors and empty nightmares...
...but there are whispers that you can hear, if you listen just a little closer to the sighing of the draft in the tunnel, and those half-hidden voices will tell you everything you ever wanted to know. They are the answer to every wish you kept safe behind your eyelids, private to the point of futility. The pale wraiths that are the questions and tearful prayers that have accompanied you this far into the paths of your mind will be disintegrated before the clarity by which those murmurs will lead you into...
No. I can go no further. This is not what I wanted---this----
