Being seen,
Is strange.
For some of us;
Happens so seldomly,
That we become frozen without a mask.
Having been used to navigating a world,
Devoid of others like you.
Chameleon amongst riff raff.
Trap door spider chique.
Free to play the villain –
All we want.
It’s jarring.
Frozen;
On pause.
Deer in headlights syndrome.
Outed for the mimic we are.
A dozen selves lean back in terror.
Two dozen more leer closer,
Hungry for the dopamine.
Consider me intrigued.
Like a strange sort of Funhaus mirror.
I become the distorted one –
A warped version of you,
From another timeline.
My want,
The Infinite Hunger;
It slavers with curiosity.
The monk barely holding onto the choke chain, links as big as the anchor lines of tankers.
Even The Wyrm,
Stirs.
One great yellow slitted eye,
Wide open.
Clear inner eyelids glistening with starlight, somewhere out in the central orbits of Boote’s Void.
Several bodies resonating all at once – avatars of avatars, strewn across different realities.
Our familiar patterns,
Barely holding on.
Struggling not to break,
With the sheer weight of it.
This mere human extension of self,
Intrigued beyond initial limits.
Lines carefully drawn in the sand.
Other spellcasters:
Be they wizards,
Warlocks,
Druids,
Whatever they might be –
Perhaps might recognize a symbol or two,
My own warped bastardizations –
Stolen across as many types of power,
As I could consume.
Everything –
At the end of the day:
Becomes a tool for my toolbox.
No matter what,
It might be.
Let me see your soul.
No fear:
I promise not to play,
An even darker brew of Baba Yaga.
Technology laden witchcraft.
I also promise,
Not to add your spirit –
To my flock.
Only the dead may nestle,
At my bosom.
Those who died before their time.
So.
My glamour broken –
One of many,
What,
Can this World Serpent,
Do for you?
Finding myself eager to gift you,
My powers.
These Damocles Swords,
Becoming yours to swing at thy leisure.
It’s such a dangerous thing,
Hyperfixation.
Never certain where such whimsy,
Will take me.
My camouflage gone,
Predator instincts kick in.
Held back,
By intrigue.
Intellect.
Want.
No wish dragon.
Nor a mere hag,
Sans a coven.
I play at larger metaphors,
Than just these.
You have my interest,
In full.
Rarity among rarities!
A cryptid’s symbolisms.
Endless want.
Unburdened gluttony.
Desire incarnate.
Hair string triggers,
Of impulse.
Now,
I want you.
Trap Door Spider Chique. \\ An Even Darker Brew Of Baba Yaga.
