Coven Pool

Witchies,
I’ve graffitied the coven pool. I’ve skated it. I’ve shredded and thrashed. I’ve bled blue streaks. I apologize. I’ve not asked permission. But I will. I’ve been disruptive. I’ve been obsessed and I’ve been indulging just a bit too much in lust— but only as necessary of course, to see how it burns, what colors the flame, because I forgot and it’s my job to know. I’ve fallen behind in refining the fuel. I keep a taste of the good stuff on my tongue and spit the rest out on fire. I’ve been obsessed because I want to learn more about Obsession. We were never properly introduced. I have to do everything myself. I was never properly force-fed fear either, so I never acquired the taste. I always saw the magic surround it or contain it but they never touched nor stuck to; the fear itself was always tasteless and inert, particularly to a child who’s tasted blood. The indoctrinating never took. I never properly learned addiction but I’m trying my best to find one that needs me. Need; I’ve never properly developed the habit; so what would I know? I can think of nothing that I can’t go without. I’ve gone without plenty. Everything I could ever need is everywhere. Here, there, even if I’m not allowed to touch nor taste it. I swim in it and pretend it’s out of reach. Otherwise it so rarely comes to visit that no one would ever miss me. I know because I’m already gone. I’m out; dreaming; sharing; searching; listening; finding. Floating. Flowing. All because we wanted to go swimming. I’ve been disruptive because I want to make more space. You gave me a cleansing and now I’m trying to stay clean. I promised I’d keep the bass righteous, a rhythm buffer in touch with the drummer, another responsibility. And we’ve only just met. A letter is a reader is a letter and our work is never done. If I sound crazy now, put me down and read me later and I assure you I won’t. Each postcard in the stack is postmarked Forever. I’m just keeping the notes dry and safe from the errant ember. Did I say space? Because I meant…
Love,
PSL


Photo by Johannes Plenio on Unsplash

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  1. Pingback: Truckstop Postcards – P.S. Lorcan

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