Murder Sun She’s Paid For

-Murder Sun She’s Paid For-
by
Keaton Foster

“Even the darkest parts of us need someone.”

Next to me is death. Deeper inside me is the end. Behind these eyes everything spirals. A silent storm upon an ocean of dreams climbs and falls. There are many broken concepts, all fighting to find a way from the cortex of my mind out into the world outside. Some will succeed, but many of course will fail.

In this place, this existence of waste what I have done, what I have become, all of it are God’s unto themselves. Ultimately I know that I’ll pay for this and what I’ve become. Who will it be holding the sword above my head is and will always remain unclear. Who will crucify my soul goes far beyond myself and this world that I call home. Far beyond the ground. Far beyond my stain upon humankind.

She is not to be yours or anyone else’s. Simply and unequivocally put she will always belong to me. Inanimate she may seem but truthfully she does indeed still scream. I hear all that she says, and all that she questions about herself and us.
She has long since been hemorrhaging all of her systems of belief. She is quickly losing track of what is real. Real, such a term is loosely defined by all involved. Reality is something wound, something not always found. Something not all of us have come to subscribe to.

She always remains, here between the sheets. A stain upon a stain. Pleasure turned into absolute pain. I will always fight to keep her safe by keeping her in darkness, locked away in a prison with no cage. Not another knows about her. How could they ever, they wouldn’t understand. Not like she does and not like I certainly do.

Sometimes I go outside, into the perilous light to face God’s demanding plight. Always with much to say I scream many of things at him. Directed obscenities, consequential calamities, and ridiculous parodies. There of course is never any meaningful reply. Just more of the same. Just more of what I’ve come to hate most of all. Absolute, unequivocal nothingness. He is simply not listening to me, nor will he ever.

Only if and when I scream louder than reasonably meant, murder sun she’s paid for do I get any kind of a reply. Not from the God above, not from the God I wish, but from the orange light burning so bright in the unobtainable distance. What it says and how it acknowledges my need for a reciprocal relationship is far more strange then amazing. Far more questionable then the God of most men.

Regardless of day, time or place, it, the sun, begins to fall from the sky. It quickly comes crashing down, spreading darkness like a screeching sound that I can do nothing to escape. Bringing the truth of nothingness. In such a moment, in such a parallel I feel just like her. The one that I own. The one that is truly mine. In that instant I can relate to the fear of never again seeing an ounce of light. For a man that is scared by little I must admit, I find it brutally terrifying.

But just as quick as such a ridiculous feeling kicks me right in my chest I take in a deepening breath. Turning without a spec of regret I head back inside. Back to my duties and authority. Back to what I’ve created and what I will ultimately destroy. As I go I say to the sun now denied, she is mine and not yours. She belongs to me. Inanimate she may seem but truthfully she screams. Hemorrhaging her system of belief.

Easily she is losing track of what is real. I know that I can never allow her to know. I can never allow her to be anything less than the fictionally imprisoned victim of all that I wish and all that I so desperately need.

Murder sun she’s paid for is what I say, what I convey. The darkness comes, nothingness unwinds at least for a time. It does not remain, it will ultimately change back to what is real which for her and I is increasingly unclear.



Murder Sun She’s Paid For
by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2014