It doesn't appear slowly, inching it's way until it suddenly climaxes and envelopes completely; it's just simply there, like the headlights of a Semi truck in the dead of night beaming blinding yellow shards into the unsuspecting eyes of a doe - she hadn't a chance.
Swiftly and with unsurprising ease, I fall into this familiar state:
With a great rush beyond my control, the blinders slip on.
I carry on now, in a completely altered world, where boundaries dissipate in my wake. My heart beats, composed; my hands steady, like the Great Artist forming his masterpiece.
It's as normal to me as carrying a conversation, or taking in a breath.
This indiscretion is not lost on my conscience; I would fly willingly into the arms of what I once considered my Savior to be enveloped in new depths of realizations.
It was our little secret.
Walking on I would romanticize my captor, securely fastened in a state of Stockholm. Such consuming hands, first touching, then seizing every inch of me. Soon I will fall into a familiar euphoric bliss, deceptively unaware of the truth behind my sins.
I pause briefly to ponder my fate, but no sooner do I venture to consider the consequences, do I feel it's warm tongue start slowly up the lower part of my body, leaving gleaming residues of enchantment in it's stride, finally finishing with my mind, rocking me back, ever the complaisant lover.
To deny it to swim upstream.
You can't leave, it whispers.
You'll never manage alone.
Come with me, I'll take care of you,
it purrs.
How seductive.
Walking hand in hand, I feel the lines tighten; the satisfaction takes hold and I resume the form of a puppet, a shape I am no stranger to.
I've assumed this form for years.
In my blinded state of consciousness, I feel a graceful cord tether,
vibrating melodies,
soft songs ringing almost indistinct,
tugging ever so...
My captor swoons on.
Days roll along and the song grows louder sill.
To follow would beg me leave from my precious one.
I feel it's desperate grasp, exhausting every trick it knows,
throwing my body and mind into such realms of pleasure I am left a whipped shell.
But still this new hymn resounds.
And then quite suddenly I see!
This tune has been speaking to me
for as long as I have known what it is to dream.
I can distinguish the cords,
feel it's abiding light take form and swoop in to carry me to a new, brighter, wholesome reality of inconsiderable possibility.
I feel my captor's screams.
It's talons grasp desperately for my form only to slip silently away as if I were as soft as silk.
In the days to come I sense it linger, note it looming close when slumber calls.
And even now it strives to woo me back. I feel the pounding hover daily still.
But the song rings true.
I know now the lies I was to believe to serve as such a willing conductor.
I see it's true form, no longer the sultry, seductive absolute solution to my prayers, but a coward hiding in the shadows needing sorrow and angst to feed it's ego, wrapping it all in a pretty pink bow.
My Savior song calls.
I feel it's warmth carry me daily now.
Know without a doubt it's unadulterated affection, it fills me whole, brighter then I could ever envision.
And I am finally free from my fallen one.
-A poem my Amy Middleton.
