...Recoiling.
I find myself recoiling from you.
Mental and physical despondency luring me into my silent
darkness,
My eyes and mind slumber as tenebrosity welcomes me once again.
Repeatedly you disappear from our safehaven to return to a place that is neither befitting nor your ultimate destination;
Do you not know you belong here, my mistress to the shades of
night?
The travelled pathways of mankind you have wandered with another,
Moving through life, tasting the fruit cut with his knife.
Your providence is to be traversed "adeen" that is your calling;
It demands your heart empty handed.
Your voracious thirst for him has perished from whence it came;
His seraphic face only to be left swaying to the requiem of what could never be.
My body slowly sheds its skin unveiling my aesthetic rebirth.
Salubriously and autonomously, I rise once more to evanesce
clandestinely into the mysterious shadows of my hermitic
underworld.
`T. Imaan Tretchicovmanicova
