Unmask Me
Strip the candlelit mercy from my face, let the shadows find their rest elsewhere. I want your eyes to drown in the whole of me the cracks, the bruised velvet of my soul, the cathedral of bones I’ve built for shelter. Do not worship the polished relic. Kneel before the ruin. Press your palms into the dust of my history, and know that you have touched every truth I’ve buried alive. See me in the storm-lit hours, when my voice is all thunder and confession, when the air is thick with the scent of rain and the ghosts of my unspoken words walk between us like ancient priests. Do not flinch from the altar I am. Drink from the dark water I carry. Love me where I am jagged, where my edges draw blood, and you will know what it is to behold a soul that has never been tamed.
This is Mello, the way it should be.
Your last couple of pieces where you had allowed current events to get to you were saddening to read. That even somebody like yourself who should be able to escape from the bitter side of this world had become disturbed by it just goes to show that none of us are immune. I suppose none of us can escape all the time.
Thank you.
“the cathedral of bones I’ve built for shelter.
the polished relic
the ghosts of my unspoken words
walk between us like ancient priests.
Drink from the dark water I carry”
Holy shit, this rocks! The visuals alone had me reread immediately. And the story those pictures help paint is brutal, intimate, romantic in the stone-mansion-in-a-thunderstorm sense. You are pure shredding here.