Attatched
So beautiful, the corpse in which I lay. Their death is my life, their blood my drink and their body my food. Some may say I'm too clingy, too attached, but most hardly ever notice I'm there, and most notice too late. Burrowed in the chambers of your love, hiding from the scalpel, waiting for that first incision. But the evidence is gone, the killer moved on to some other helpless soul, in the form of pills, dirtied drink, or feces; looks truly do not matter. My lovers give to me their life, I gladly accept; I cannot survive on my own, my greed fills me and squishes everything out of my self until I am nothing but the essence of ignorant greed. They must feel bad, their hearts are so big; what is one more creature to fit in their? I cannot be detached from the one who gives me a heart, lungs, and life, or I will be nothing but a corpse. My love is the deadliest kind, materialistic and possessive. It will suck your blood dry till you are nothing but a box in the ground, and I will keep on living, stuck on my new love and the next and the next and the next. I love all my hosts; and their hearts are too big to not love me, too.
Mechanical Heart
As I was surrounded by mannequins my whole life, it is no wonder to me why she twinkled a bit brighter than the rest in the sea of bleakness. I had been fascinated with such phenomenons such as the girl since a very young age, studying the night sky as if it were the writings of God himself. Nothing could have compared to the beauty of space and its complete other worldliness; but she was different. A stray ray of light, hitting at the perfect moment. Subtle, really; no drastic "aha" moment, but none the less, a glimmering key that would free my inner most feared beast. She came upon me like the flicker of a duded match; bright and warm for mere seconds, then leaving me searching again in the freezing and dark. She was the warmth I needed the most. The perfect embodiment of a grand tapestry, capturing a beautiful yet tragic prophecy, all on her own. Shame the tapestry would be lost forever, only a fragment left safe in my mind. I would spend my life searching like a mad pirate for an encrypt message, pieces of the puzzle, but again nothing. In the end, I would drown unnoticed in the same sea of bleakness my girl of fire did oh so many years ago.
It started with her hair; red like the breath of feared dragons tumbling down like flaming rain upon her smooth granite shoulders and two orange arches that would compare to even the most beautiful of sunsets. Two glimmering emeralds were encased in two moon-like orbs; only slivers could be seen as they were swiped away from my direction, as if I was an unworthy theif. Her skin, translucent in the moonlight, made her ghostly appearance only more inconceivable. Her feathery eyelashes brushed past me and flew up to the sky to be among the other angels of her class. Her cheeks, roses amongst the many consolations blooming on her milky skin. An endless maze only the Gods and humans so blessed as to look for thousands of millennials will fully know the depth and paths to but, God, I would rather be lost in that maze for a lifetime than be pushed away by calculations and piles of maps. Her outfit, simple and too big for her obviously slim stature, hid away all other secrets from my mortal eyes forever. Her legs carried her swiftly away, into the blinding darkness on the back of a flared dragon, all the way up to the golden heavens where she belonged; another plain angel, but heart stopping nonetheless-- almost deadly. As if she had the power to create them herself, a warm gust of wind followed behind her, summoning red autumn leaves to aid her mystical assent. Then, I was yet again drowning in darkness, alone on the pavement at the bottom of the deepest sea.
When you look down to the sea from the surface, you are blind to its depths. As a human, as much as you are compelled to look down, looking up in just as natural. The cameras they send down to explore the depths of the ocean no human can reach, they never look up; only forward and down. No man has ever traveled the ocean floor. I believe that is what made the made the sensation frightening and strange. But I was no man; I was a machine. Machines are good at doing one thing; making your coffee, building your home, capturing moments; everything else is just accessory. I captured everything around me, and everything below me, searching for any signs of life the girl may have left behind, my body became a slave to the maddened biologist on the other side of the screen. Yet she was gone. I wasn't. My feet were cemented in that position even after they had carried my five miles away; my eyes still searching on that dimly lit street even after my lids had been draped. My mouth, though speaking words to other people, were spoken with the purpose of being called out to the girl of fire as if to get her attention. My mind, still stuck on that feeling of euphoria I had gotten at the glimpse of her, rotted away by the untimely addiction for that feeling. The rest of my years here on earth was spent doing one bland thing; searching for the untouched and instantaneous beauty that blessed upon me a second of witness. I hadn't seen the wrongness of my path until I was on my last legs; the final stage of man, bent down crippled into the dirt.
As a machine, I had one task. Look around, look under, find her. With such a scientific idea, I had long forgotten that angels do not roam the ground on earth, but the sky. Machine have one task, but humans only do one thing; they die. In the end, that's all we can do. When my mechanical body finally broke down, I was dying; no longer a machine but born into a new body with endless possibilities and only one possible end. As I lay on my death bed, though hooded by a roof, I was still on that avenue, drowning in the darkness. Looking up from the bottom of the ocean is not so different as looking down; you don't know how deep you are. As I sucked my final breath, letting water flood into my lungs, I could have sworn I saw Them; angels, like flares, dancing gracefully and burning brightly in the sky, and for a moment I was transported back into my bedroom, behind my stethoscope, and completely mortal.