The Maw

There was a door,

It bore no mark.

But, when it opened, I felt the most nauseating ache in my stomach. At first I thought it was a door to hell, but hell isn’t as real as this place.

When the door creaked,

I felt her scream. I could not hear it. I think it blew my ear drums instantly. When I touched them, my ears were dripping blood so I knew.

I knew.

I was afraid.

I also felt her teeth.

I could not see them.

They ached for my flesh, for my blood, and for my thoughts. The overwhelming dread consumed me and I closed my eyes, aching to wake up. The longing for daylight was immeasurable. Never in my life have I been so afraid, yet so lucid. I was dreaming wasn’t I?

In my head I saw statues. My eyes were closed, but I still felt the blood dripping down the side of my neck, across my jawline and off my chin. It was so cold against my warm skin.

The statues were white,

submerged in blood.

Or maybe they were bleeding themselves?

Algae grew up from their feet to their mouths and eyes resembling vomit, purging uncontrollably from all orifices.

I opened my eyes,

and there was that fucking door again.

It had at some point closed. I don’t remember it closing, but then again, I couldn’t hear anything.

There were worms, jet black worms, reaching out through the crack underneath the door. They writhed upwards and around all four sides of the door. They were beckoning me.

I reached for the handle,

It was ice cold.

With the slightest turn of the handle, the latch gave and the door swung open violently, hastily filling the empty white room with frigid black water.

I was going to drown in here.

The room filled too quickly for me to panic. I felt the white ceiling hit my head as the water rose. I took my last breath in that room, and I swam down. I could not see anything. My eyes were closed again. I could feel the water blowing in through the door. I swam against the current, and upon touching the frame of the portal, I heard her song. All movement stopped, and my hairs stood on end. They could feel her gentle breath — Submerged.

I once again opened my eyes,

Everything was blue,

Snow was falling in the deep,

Dozens of the white pillars,

Doused in their own vomit and blood,

Praising her song.

Physics and geometry don’t make sense under water. I felt as if I were swimming down, but down was up. Depth was wrong and angles disappeared the longer I looked at them.

Everything around me would breathe and fade into all else as if it were alive,

Glowing disks,

Arms by the dozen,

Catching the snow,

Teeming everywhere,

Undulating like fabric.

I need to learn her dance.


“Men don’t belong here. I don’t belong here.”

A veil like a halo enveloped her head,

Sort of like midnight,

When the moonlight pours down to the earth.

“Angelica!”

Fear,

Its like a sinking vessel.

Like the voice of the waters,

Dwelling beneath a sinister veil,

Waiting, gently wading,

Like a spider, or a mother,

Or a mirrored reflection on still black water.

There is a gentle current beneath the surface. Its just like her breath. It flows back and forth like a feather on the wind. Like a portal taking a deep inhale and letting go with a slow, soft release.

A drop of ink fell into a glass of clear water.

It moved carefully with no innate direction, settling downward in a slow splash. She was revealing herself to the Choir, who remained singing that Venusian song.

“Angelica!”

For a moment I thought I was in love, Entranced by her arms reaching and dancing upward like two embracing serpents. Her eyes remained fixated on one of the disks above. Except this one was massive. A star, a falling star. Its long tendrils flowed upwards as it fell emitting a green-blue bioluminescence. A comet’s tail.

Her eyes compelled an immense longing indescribable by any human means.

She knew it was falling.

A preternatural desire filled my chest as the tendrils shrilled and became a white tail-flame.

The fall was slow and gradual,

Yet visceral and righteous.

Jovial, yet Martian,

But losing passion with every moment passing.

Her ink began to rise,

It was colder than the water,

It was thicker.

It was hers.

By the command of her dance, the statues’ blood began to separate from the bile and rise upward — seeping into her silken skin which turned crimson as it bled into her linen flesh. Her serpentine arms shot toward the star, enveloping it like a magnificent breath snuffing a candle’s flame.

Everything was shrouded in inky blackness. All that remained was the candle wick, glowing with its final breath in a boundless void.

I could not feel my body anymore.

I could not breathe.

Once again, I was afraid.

The star, now gentle and dim,

Flickered four-fold,

Then thrice.

Her now jet black arms,

Dark as a window to a vacant, unlit room, Glimmered across its surface and enveloped the faint dying breath of the star.

Her teeth moved like the arms of a centipede around it’s prey. Or a smooth hook that glides over the skin, like a tongue, then sinks into the flesh — kneading with a thousand pulsating needles.

She swallowed the star.

Primordial chaos snuffed out all light.

And I spoke her name;