I am a coward, and a fool; and a powerful mythical creature of darkness.
A poisonous serpent, always able to strike despite my innocent appearance.
I am no hero. I fear Autumn will wear me down, convince me, turn my will
to hers. To succumb, make her like me, hate her like me, never again the girl
I love. She would never become the woman she might. I am not built for
that responsibility, or sacrifice.
I am built for flight, to teleport by line of sight. I propel far and fast
beyond familiarity. My point of ultimate shame. I abandon my one
true friend for her unmeant betrayal.
I tell myself she will figure out her own destiny without my pernicious
influence, false promise of romantic demise or escape to puissant
Clear up here below moonshine’s city pallor. I fly to highest building top,
further my view. Sight aims toward less dense habitation. I project
past all sense of humanity. Along this trajectory some lone traveler will
provide opportune feed. My propelling need is distance. To reach abandoned
farmland, empty barn, storm cellar, before day. To move ever forward
by night, attain natural shelter, underground cavern, cave dwelling
beyond human knowledge. To learn my natural rhythm as wandering
beast, free of insane human reason, confusion of ritual and rules, depleted
meaning. Madness to remain all those decades among them. In my early
days as demon wilderness was more ubiquitous, easy to access. Foolish
assumption of compulsory penance, caught up in man’s connotations of Hell.
I did not think to believe myself outside those laws. Evil is the human
in me, the demon mere wild instinct. Now I seek refuge among besieged
creatures on dwindling grounds. What wilderness is left. There always is.
Wild things find a place to be home.
I commence to new learning curve of adaptations. To eat, be eaten, adapt
to instinctual nature, lose the habit of language.
Unexplored environs provide useful distractions. Haunts of city scenes,
seasons, sins fall back from immediacy. Mere sad mythology stripped
to random ambiance of reverie. Not my stories, my actions, my remorse.
They belong to a foolish penitent, false child of man mired in ritual
condemnation. I elude erstwhile tradition, enter apprenticeship as wild
demon. Unmanned reality becomes teacher, master, home.
Perhaps after secure reposition, authentic acclimation, I might
chance to visit urban habitat for amusement. Perhaps up the
timeline their encroachment by degrees engulfs, overwhelms,
destroys this sanctuary. I am skilled, practiced at adapting.
Wild demon unseen preys upon human waste to cull the cursed.
My mind clear of their rubble, purged of their categories, presumptions,
cult morality. I touch, taste, smell, hear, a world that makes sense.
I never belonged in their twisted, manufactured realm. Accepted
self-blame, letting hate seep through, waste and abuse.
Respectful fear, fight, kill in instinct to survive, no hate, blame,
excuses required. No referent for loneliness. All just is, interacts,
as nature intends.
Yet, my undisciplined mind insists, visits each intricate interpretation
of sin to touch pain, suffer. All these days and nights continue.
Over increments of eternity this habitually punishing consciousness
might learn better games.
Maybe learn to find that bliss of calm, to self-determine, to walk out
into the sunlight, and burn.