Lifeless surrender is numbness, a void, a prickly black hole, death. Yet, there is another altogether tantalizing form of surrender. The act of giving in with a vengence. It's you alone who understands my struggle. If I lose you, I lose me. Even as we sit a chasm apart, I feel you in me. Sometimes I fear that my life is more yours than mine. This other force is there, pulsing like an extra heartbeat inside of me -driving me and holding me back at the same time. I'm burning up. Can't get enough. Can't stop. I cry out for you even as I try with the others. But I lock them out at the same time I'm seducing them... the moments when the shell cracks and I peek inside, waves of panic, disgust, shame, remorse springing out if the crevices like poisonous vipers going for my jugular. God, how Freudian can I get? I suppose the laugh's on me. When I tell you that it hurts, you say the hurt is love. Inseperable. Inevitable. To lose that love -that pain- would be worse than death itself. His place. A black little studio a few blacks from the club. Smelly mattress on a grimy floor. It wouldn't have mattered. Not if he'd been able to come through with what I needed. But he was lousy. Not an once on subtlety. Kept saying. 'I fuckin' thought thas was what you wanted, baby,' as he walloped me. He didn't get it. Didn't get it at all. None of them do.
But you.
Last night I imagined you were sitting on the chaise in my bedroom watching me making love with a faceless man. In the end, they were all faceless. My fingers close around you, and I see th light click off your eyes. I feel a desperation so intense that I imagine myself bein devoured by it. You are my private agony, my mystery, my life. You are as good as dead. I mourn and celebrate in the same breath. I'm desperately searching for the balance between darkness and light. I see it in you, too. Our desires are tangled up in a nightmare that we share.