Hide and Seek

There is a silence that fills me. It provokes a ringing in my ears, completing with the silence of the snowfall outside. I'm tired and cold. Buried under 4 blankets and a layer of thick clothes is my body. My physical form. It's what keeps me here bound to this Earth, but doesn't keep me real. I am an entity all my own. I slither in the shadows, crawl through dreams and feast on the psychic sludge of those around me. I am a consumer. A consumer in every since of the world. I covet, I take I destroy. They've always said posession is 9/10ths of the law, but I want to push that futher. Explore it a little more. See just how far I can push until... My body is cold, but I am warm. It's diddicult being two beings laced as one. Soemtimes even I, myself, forget where one begins and one ends. It's important to remain seperate; focus on what divides us from one another. I don't know what would happen if we ever were to merge into one, but it's not something that I'm looking to explore anytime soon. I don't even know if we had once been together, back when I was first pushed out into the world. I wonder if that first gasp of breath we draw when we are finally pushed from the birth canal is us inhaling a soul. Everyone has their own definition of soul based on religious background, experiences, cultures and whathaveyous. I'm able to remember; not the entire birthing process, but that one gleaming moment I realised I was alive. I looked up and saw the white tiles of the delivery room, the water stain on the ceiling and something red...It was something bwtween a goo and smoke, whatever that is. Before I can focus in on the memory, examine it further it's gone. That's all I have. A mental poloarid marking my birth. Who else can say they remember their birth? Usually the earliest memory is something further down the line...playing with blocks, a trip with grandma... Maybe it was blood. I love blood. The texture, the taste, the various colours, the smell. Sometimes if you're quick and careful enough, you can actually smell fear in blood. Taste the life-force of another that now sustains you. I've always been aroused fasinated and mystified by blood. My skin itches. I peek under the layer of blankets lift and lift the lower half of my hoodie. Blood. Too bad it's dried. I don't want to get up, but the itching will only intensify the longer the blood stays on my skin. With great reluctance, I free myself from the blankets and make my way to the bathroom. The tile floor is cold against my feet. In the light of day you can clearly see my body caked with blood after I remove my clothes. I want to put them back on, slip into the warmth they provide, but that will only bring back the itching. I turn the water to scald and step into the steam. It feels so good. The heat begins to release the tight muscles of my neck, shoulder and back. As soon as the water droplets collide with the blood, my nostrils are filled with a sweet metallic scent. I smell my own essence and the essence of others...their beauty forever captured on film and soon to be encased in my skin. Beauty is an interesting thing. Something that we all desperately ache to posess, yet so very few of us are poised to take the beauty of another. Although, beauty is in the eye of the beholder...She smells of fresh apples. She smells of honey dew melon. I smell of loathing, deciete and most of all, power. I work the bar of soap over my body as the smell fades. I wish it would linger in the back of my mind, like memories do. For me, smell is such a powerful trigger. Perhaps one of my favorite of the senses. But where I be, where would we, be without them? Little pink tinged bubbles pop, the rest as washed down the drain. I'm fully lose now. I feel the psychological stress that weighs me down lifting. My fingers linger on the fresh wounds, the hunger on my lips. The bubbles and dim light immunimate the scars on my stomach and hips. Living memories, so to speak. I wrap myself in a towel. The fibres are soft and comforting against my skin. The comfort brings me confliction at times. There is nothing I've done in my life to deserve it, yet the animal in me craves it. I feel the fatigue settling in my bones. It's not one of age. I look at myself in the mirror. Dark eyes. Average nose. Pink, cracked lips. I'm youthful, still. Its funny, when you're a child you think that 30 is old, now that I'm in my 30's I don't feel as old as I thought I was going to feel. For the most part, I'm energised, able-bodied and proficient in my work; but there are days when I need to take to bed, sometimes for days. It only really becomes a problem when the days slip into weeks. I pull a clean hoodie over my head, leaving the hood up. The sweatpants of my former lover are loose around my hips, but it doesnt persuade me to put on something else. I make myself a cup of hot. chocolate before crawling back into my bed. It's stopped snowing now, the clouds breaking. A dimly lit yellow sun threatening to break free. It's still going to be cold. Well below freezing today. Soon the day will give birth to night where a frigid, full moon will hang in the sky. It's glaring look of curiosity and accusation will peer into my soul as I make my way out into the snow. The darkness will be my friend and familiar comfort as I slink through icy streets and past frozen shop windows. No. I need to make sure that the doors are locked; the windows too. My anxiety over being safe at night is becoming a sort of paranoiaa. I can't sleep unless I know that I'm locked in and that everything else is locked out. My home is my sanctuary. It is the one place that I am truly safe. My anxiety leads me to spend hours at night, tossing and turning trying to fall asleep knowing that there are others just like me out there lurking under the cloak of night. It's one thing to be one of these things, it's another to be attacted by one of these things. No one wants to be a victim...and yet there are so many who enjoy making others victims. Such is the cycle of lufe, I suppose. This is an excerpt from the introduction to my latest project "Hide and Seek". I am having to put the Delectables with Dan cannabis cookbook on hold as I persue a higher education in cannabis. Paper Hearts is being worked on as well as upcoming previews of Happiness and Homicide. A blog on upcoming projects that are non writing related will be coming soon as well as tour updates for the summer and into the autumn! Keep an eye out for all upcoming updates in the next few days/weeks!