How do I begin this? How do I begin to smear these pages with a certain black stain? How do I begin to press and stab and bleed this dark stain into the fabric of this once desolate, glacial, desert, white, landscape of a page; to be locked in place by the hammering of steel keys. A stain which your brain can no longer see, can only, must, read; for this stain is in the shape and pattern of man’s birth of man’s words.
A stain which must be placed, a stain which does not wash, which defines me, consumes me, destroys me, burns me at the stake, fills me, is me. I scrub and sweat, scream, and tear, but the stain does not remove itself.
It persists and endures, it outlives and never lives, it is black and heavy and thick. It shocks it awes, it is Rumsfeld’s wet dream. It consumes me, I consume it.
My soul is painted black. My blood runs dark, thick, slow and heavy, like the hungry pipeline veins of the earth. It is volatile, fragile, and flammable. It is the resin of ancient dragon smoke, Unleashed from the forbidden plant that was destined, cursed to burn. It begins with the breathing of fire and ends in the breathing of earth.
This stain originates from the belly of a beast: a beast so massive, so evil, and so wise, that its ancient existence is even still whispered into the ears of our children by our grandfathers in the trees. It is the ink of my soul and the oil of my veins. It is what crucifies and maddens me, and drives me to roam the the vampiric streets till dawn.
It began with the breathing of fire, it filled my chest, dined on my heart and dipped my mind into darkness. It has, long ago fully consumed me, fully sacrificed me. I have fallen to the flames, charred and chained next to Prometheus. It is sin, guilt, and crucifixion while burning at the stake.
The stain has consumed me; it has begun to leak out of me. It has outgrown my flesh and bone walls. I can no longer contain it. I can no longer keep it. The darkness of its flames has begun to burn.
