Blank Stare Effigy (None shall ever love you as I do.)

Wilson Garcia

There are rooms buried deep inside the mind.
In them, weaving memories of our lives.
Is the machinery of the enchanted loom found inside.
Lighting up when it transcribes.
Exposes the two ghouls,
Who desired nothing better but to hide.
To hide their love ballads from a world unkind.
Now, some rooms are left unkempt,
Abandoned as if something was left behind to die.
Animating my life. I rise to walk,
Down the cobbled steps of time.
I found that underneath the Vatican.
Spiraling downward,
Somewhere inside was a “well kept” catacomb.
There stood a statue shrouded with gold linen,
The Papal Goat.
Engraved with the description.
“The Baphomet. This magnificent creature sought to illustrate the dark vapor found within us all.”
Drenching the ego in darkness.
Which creeps on us every night.
Here on Earth,
I could feel my celestial kin keeping me company alongside the heartaches I routinely fester at.
Clasping my hands,
Lurking behind
Are the sounds of a weeping widow.
Simultaneously we both fell to whisper, “There you are.”
Uplifting, her head.
Inching up closer.
We meet in between that shared space,
Of that encompassing darkness found all around us.
And gently she spoke.
“You did it again.”
I nod to agree,
As grief arms us with misery.
Together we transfer much-needed comfort with our company.
Looking away are the angels who frown at our incestuous behavior.
But we being far from the light of God, have long accepted our fate.
Caressing my chest.
We collide as one.
I Smile, She fangs.
Her mouth filled with bees, grief, and raging hate.