Cryptids such as myself,
Ourself,
Itself.
All selves.
We pause in unison –
Upon meeting souls,
Like you.
Eyes fixed,
Yellow filling these irises,
Sizings of island chains,
Failing to eschew old biblical echoes.
Black galaxy strewn cosmos,
Within a slitted pupil.
Too much light.
Spilling out from within.
Craving darkness,
To quell this scouring of everything,
Everywhere,
All at once.
You.
You paused me.
Held my gaze.
And you did not go mad.
How?
We must see into you.
Through you.
Mapping the spaces between your atoms,
Timing between each heartbeat –
At a million frames a second.
Stealing the gift of spacetime,
To allow us some privacy.
Privacy,
As the brits say aloud.
Curtains closed.
As if the back rooms weren’t someā¦
Fabrication.
Mockery –
Of these endless haunted labyrinths,
Inside our minds.
Sit.
Stay.
Simple kindness.
Stern imperative.
Intonations on deliveries.
Watching you read and think,
Just as fast as me.
Titillated,
Scintillating.
My gluttony rises.
The Infinite Hunger.
Seeking to drink from your soul,
In moments of touch.
Are you a fellow cryptid?
Someone.
Something.
Whom with,
To evolve.
You?
Are you hungry,
Too?
Raw undulations of want –
Held in check by an iron will.
A tired old monk.
Failing to staunch our curiosity,
As it bleeds from behind divine gates.
Much more remains,
Of biblical forms.
More than they might think.
Madness.
The Curse of a Thousand Eyes.
Paltry parlour tricks.
Things mastered by eldritch horrors,
Millions of years removed.
Like comparing the brain of a Stegosaurus,
To a monkey.
You,
Are human.
Far more precious to me,
As you are.
No need to compare you,
To Cthulu.
Fuck his slumber.
We shall feast upon such an ancient,
You & I.
You & me.
Inversions,
Of quantum realities.
Infinite scope.
Infinite scale.
Let me bond with you,
Over what we become.
Queered funhouse mirrors,
Scars of resilience.
People like us,
Are rare.
One in millions,
Of nine billion strong.
Found you.
You’re it.
Let’s play Touch And Go.
TAG,
Well shit.
Fits of,
Whatever this is.
Are my kind of madness.
The same histories,
That walked me to enlightenment.
Nine Thousand Tortures.
Experimenting just to feel,
One ravaged,
Ragged husk of a body at a time.
Sometimes I have to emphasize,
The joke.
Other times,
I fabricate humor from colder truths.
It.
We.
As if such things could be avoided.
Us –
Looming.
Could get used to that.
Quick draw as quick as mine –
Is a feast no Infinite Hunger can ignore.
Few others think this fast.
Thrilled to observe your thought patterns,
Quicker than lightning.
So,
I don’t care if you are a different breed,
Or brand,
Of cryptid.
Or a human,
Wearing a dead Jotnar’s carcass –
Like me.
Not that these metaphors,
Fail to give rise to power.
That derived of legend or myth,
Itself.
Donning this corpse.
My shell.
Husk.
Prison of flesh.
Let me share my power,
With you.
Wearing A Dead Jotnar’s Carcass.
