Love and reprobation

Meet me where the earth cracks and a dying stream breathes its last, where the ashen peaks lose their charm and look tobacco stained, where the asphyxiated grass choked by some sadistic otherworldly force gasps and wheezes, where love meets reprobation and we’re broken, neglected sinners in the hands of a silent sovereign, because when fate fades and we’re watching our lives unfold in hazy sepia, when wheels of fortune lie splintered and there’s nothing left but to weep without tears, and look but not see anything, I’d rather love you in a fucked up way than write or read or fake laughter and merriment. No, I’d rather love you with all the force of my core, breaking out of my rib-cage, splintering skin, and giving you the raw, red blood of affection. No, I’d rather hold you in this oubliette, ignoring the trapdoor and igniting the cell with seething emotion. And I don’t give a damn if they call this hyperbole, it’s all I offer, and even then, it doesn’t compare to what you’ve given me. You gave me your all, accepted me despite my demonic idiosyncrasies: my angst, my raging paranoia, won me over and if I didn’t act, reciprocate, feel and hold, it’ll be cruel. So know that I love your shadow and bliss, your shifting avatars and your true quintessential self, your skin, lips, breath, taste, flavor, balance and imbalance, and I guess we’ll just stay twisted this way.

© Nitin Lalit Murali (2018)

Protected by Copyscape

12 responses

    • Thank you so much Bruce. That means a lot coming from you. I would love to write satire like you, but I fall short every time I try! It ends up becoming a rant!

      • Haha. The only problem is the reciprocal affect, and the fact that people think that it’s directed at them when it’s not. If I write with an angry muse, I’m left seething. I hope that makes sense!

      • It makes great sense. If I write “It’s my birthday” in a piece of fiction, people wish me a happy birthday! They’re not sure what to think if the narrator poisons someone.

      • Haha. That’s the reason I often write using a third person narrative. I wrote about my rebellion and my feuds with my father recently. And the next thing I know I have a new follower: Stories written by real inmates or something along those lines. You can get away with twisted first person fiction if you write a book and get published. Then you can write whatever the hell you want! I guess I’m guilty too. I read some blogs which are Neil Gaiman dark, but coated with imagery masking it, and I can’t help but wonder if these people are making stuff up or are actually occultists doing some cruel stuff. But hell, it’s WP and I’m sure that there are both people who only write twisted stuff and dangerous ones who live it out too.

    • Thank you so much Chelsea. I thought I’ll use those images since I was talking about reprobation. I wasn’t sure initially, but I’m glad I did now, and I’m so glad you liked it.

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