I think I might have a tattoo.
It is the color of perfume and ashes,
With shades of smoke and holograms.
As cold as intergalactic space,
It follows me wherever I go.
It is even bigger than I.
It is as big as the sky.
It wraps me up in its arms.
It was the only way I could change my skin,
Because I wouldn’t want to change myself.
Anyway, I know, in better days,
I have already been a butterfly,
With a velvet body,
With eyes which have seen,
Into the darkness of Morpheus, God of Dreams,
Into the darkness of Yama, the Slave of Shiva,
Into the darkness of time, the minion of Death,
Into my own darkness, my own magic,
My own metamorphosis.
I’m pretty sure I’m an old soul.
I have done this before.
I can almost remember being inside my own tomb,
My visage taken away,
My blood no longer sticky and thick,
Turned into the salt water from the early oceans,
The frozen water of the rings of Uranus,
Of Neptune, of Nefilim, the mythic twelfth planet,
Turned into air,
The energy of a 9.6 earthquake.
The smell of sex was no longer sweet or salty.
Not the smell of sweat.
Not the sound of moaning,
Nor, the voice of animals rushing to Carnival,
Strands of wet hair,
Confetti rain on the wrong side of the moon.
When I returned from death,
I was brighter than heaven.
But, oh, I keep forgetting,
You, who have a heart of innocence,
The eyes of a child,
You have never been dead.
You do not remember the mysteries of Death’s mask,
Dancing plumage, blind muteness, introspective infinity,
The unbound opportunity for realization,
Out of which anything can manifest,
And, only devotion survives.
We are on the side of our created awareness.
Now, time is more than just an angle of perspective.
It dictates our every moment.
It tells Orpheus when he is allowed to sing.
Eternity is going to taste like anything he says.
It seems to me, a tattoo isn’t much.
Life is like a stranger, living inside us.
Every day it tells us a bit more of its story.
Anyone can have a tattoo,
But, your sleep is yours alone.
No one else can live your nightmares.
Your dreams cannot be dreamt,
By anyone but you.
Not even by your lover.