The Hell Butterfly

-Gemini-

There is a room that occupies my brain.

Impossible to count how many walls;

the architecture more complex than the humble cube.

The walls are either far too dark

or bright to see the edges,

yet I know that they are there.

Always a corner in which to cower

or ensnare.

On one side the walls are black.

Not even shadows linger here,

snuffed out like candles

by a foreign hand.

This is where my old friend Darkness dwells.

The rasps and whispers of Its many voices

speak to me in words

that I don’t understand.

Je te hais (I hate you)

I can’t hear you.

Je t’adore (I love you)

She cannot hear it either,

slumped

in Her onyx echo chamber.

—-

She is a blinding sight to see,

piercing as She is

with ashen curls that drift in eddies

to the tainted floor,

petticoat as pure as uncrumped snow

and paper skin of alabaster.

Her face is stained with Her mascara tears

and like neglected porcelain

She peels away

in flakes:

The Girl in White.

Forlorn the eyes that long for Her forever home,

banished as She is to the eternal dark.

Looking, though She cannot reach it,

yearning for return to the place where She belongs.

Her melancholy gaze fixed at the feet

of the usurper.

Her outstretched arm allows Her fingertips

to brush the very edge of those two worlds,

but not to cross it

and, tilting up Her aching neck, She cries

for She must kneel

while cruel Misfortune stands above,

unfurling painted lips,

and laughs.

—-

As fire’s smoke chokes the nimbus,

so too the soot-shod traitor smothers the light

of the second half of the room.

Mon petit nuage (My little cloud)

Viens ici (Come here)

I can’t see you.

Tu me dégoutes (You disgust me)

Allez-vous en (Go away)

She cannot see it either,

pupils dilated

in Her ivory temple.

—-

In this gleaming world, She draws the eye

like a moth to flame,

death’s head upon Her wingéd back.

Lustrous locks of poker-straight obsidian

hang about Her neck.

Black too the irises that drink

with a thirst unquenchable.

She does not belong here,

feeding as She does upon the fading light:

The Girl in Black.

Her laugh peels out like church bells.

Straight-backed and confident She smirks

down upon the betrayed.

She knows that this is not Her world,

yet she cares not, hardened as She is

from a lifetime formed of smoke and shadow.

At last cruel Envy was thrown aside,

no more drowning her tormented eyes,

and in Its place rose bitter Victory.

Once more the tolling of the bell

as The Girl in Black throws back Her head

and has the last laugh.

—-

Daily do I visit this room.

Sometimes it is the voice of The Girl in White

chiming awful sadness,

calling me to release Her,

bloodied and whimpering,

as Alice through the looking glass flooding

saltwater salvation at Her aching knees.

Sometimes the sawing screams of The Girl in Black,

shrieking words relentless in their wounding,

talons gouging at the others’ eyes,

gripping tendrils in Her raging grasp,

spitting fire like the Devil’s chord

from Her forked tongue.

Sometimes the silence pulls me in,

to which I find Them sat, cross-legged,

across from each other on the line

that separates the worlds.

There is neither hatred nor fear,

no games at play,

no plan afoot for torture or escape.

They simply stare and in this moment

they are one and the same.

This temporary bliss a haven

long-desired, yet short-lived.

—-

The war continues in the room in my brain.

It does not end, and never shall.

Indivisible,

my Sun and Moon.

Intertwined in the infinite hunt,

fuelled by Love and Hate,

my Gemini.

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