the eccentric magician

her magic cannot be subtitled

finally, I have a place to write.

to do nothing but write. to do nothing but move & muse onto the page.

to do nothing but be twisted & distorted & disgusting.

it feels good. it feels like progress. it feels like love.

the woman I am writing as likes plain text.
she doesn’t care for flourishes.
she is guttural & heart-opening & heart-wrenching.
she is also magic.

she is so fucking magic.

this woman is the most beautiful woman I know.
this woman is the evocation of my soul.
this woman has captured me.

and I love her. I would die for her. I would be happily imprisoned by her for life.
I want to be her slave.

it would be an easy life, and an meaningful one. there are much, much, much worse ways to live (and die). I am not a fool. I know a good deal when I’ve found one.

I know a great woman when I meet one.
I know I want to know HER.

and so, I will do anything for her.

because I want to. because it brings me closer to god. because it brings me ecstasy. because it unleashes me from my shackles. because what I see in her, I also see in me.

we are but mirrors. onward.

she teaches me how not to be afraid.