Gnats of the Soul.

Cigarette after cigarette, and I sit here, staring at this lap top screen.
All things, buried, have come to the surface of my own earth, and I can no longer contain any of it.
My memories are setting up little houses on the plains of my flesh, the emotions surrounding them, fueling their little cars, my pain, the water nourishing their tiny gardens. My past has come alive, and encamped upon me.
My anger, the ammunition that drives their drunken parties. These crazed tiny men, crawling out of my pores, eating at my skin. Pulling at my hair. The only eviction notice is the release.
Picking them off one by one with my words, killing them with truth. Squashing the life out of them with my tattooed fingers, swiping them from my limbs, like an avalanche of the hand. My own sweat is poison, flushing them out with the quickening of my own heart beat. Little screams as they waste away, and I smile.
This might sound like some kind of intense and strange metaphor, and maybe it is, but it’s how I feel. As if, the things on my insides, which no longer belong, are now on the outside. Dispersed across myself,  with nowhere to go, only to sit, and settle on the surface. This kind of thing, takes on a life of its own. One you can’t always control. Maybe, one you shouldn’t even try to control. Because you’ve been doing that long enough. Is it dangerous to give freedom to such a thing? to allow this evolution to take place? maybe. Or I can admit, full heartedly, that I welcome it. At least it’s on the outside, and not churning within, making me sick to myself. I can name these little men, because they are so pathetically small now. Shame, guilt, and wreckage. No longer the grim giant, of whom’s foot, I lived under. Now, they only crawl over me. Like gnats of the soul.
So let them come. Let them build their little cities. Their shrines dedicated to my own self loathing, because it’s a city built on sand, and I have my own waves to call on. Big cool waves of truth. God’s own power to wash me clean. There’s no cavern to lead them within, only roads to travel the grounds of my body. Let them travel, because every path leads back to the same place. A mouth to devour them. A flame to burn them.
So let them come. Let them march and cry out their lies. Their ropes cannot contain me, their weapons are like sting’s from a thistle. Irritating, but meaningless.
They unknowingly fuel my own needs, reminding of the things that have passed. Giving me the words I need, the righteous rage to move forth and destroy them. As they build, I build.. and for that, I’m grateful. Because you see, I know what they do not know. The thing that they’re too dumb, deaf and blind to see. That God, uses everything to my greater good. Even if it’s an evil thing. That evil, is still His pawn. And so, it’s also mine.
And so I say again, come gnats. Come and perch on me, run wild upon me and I will use you. Your little mountains of trash and accusations are my stepping stone to an honest freedom.


5 thoughts on “Gnats of the Soul.

  1. WOW! So glad you’re back. This was so worth waiting for. Powerful, meaninful, delightful. You are awesome, I love thisbeatingheart ❤

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