Icon of Coil: crawling from the abyss [sian]

July 15, 2002

crawling from the abyss [sian]

[cont'd from in the abyss | wyrmpit | forums]

hours

since he came crashing down
since he sat (a deadman) alone in Club Abyss
since she left him there

fingers splay against the wooden door, tips whitening to support the brunt of his weight - he knows she sleeps within - mismatched eyes (watching as if through a four-way windowpane) slide shut when the rough stubble along his jaw grates near silently against the wood, preceeding the arrival of his ear (listening to the sounds of deep breathing - an errant sigh as the latent serpant rolls in her coils), his own breath held, waiting - that was the last they touched, he can still feel the steely bicep curling beneath his chin

(................will you remember you're mad...)

silent as darkness the knob turns, spilling his shadow to get lost in the lightless sea spread before him (wherein does the kracken lurk?), jaw dropping to catch what scents linger in the room (gulping her essense like a dying man discovering the oasis) her pulse throbbing in his ears (marred by the tck! of the door shutting, tight, secure - no matter the need he may have for hasty exit), steps timed to connect with each rush of blood

(.................will mine be spilled tonight...)

he fights it, the spin of his brain (it only takes willpower) that threatens to cast him into an abyssmal void from which he will never return (dopesick) knees buckling to crawl over the final feet, and when his legs refuse to travel further, his body stretches, low, along the carpeting, bare (under) belly exposed by the shirt that hangs open, unbuttoned, tickled by the fibers (taught muscle ready to be slit, read the apology from viscera soaking into the carpet)

freezing - even the habitual greeting withers in his throat

light and dark blue snap to her face in the darkness, the inky voids behind closed eyelids, the obsidian avalanche of hair over exotic skin (what is it he prays...... for violence to wake.... or keep sleeping....) his lungs fill and drain at the slow rate which matches the prone form just a few feet before his eyes...... fist reaches forward, like the albino head of a sluggish python slithering over the dark carpet (when will she strike) fingers uncurling to deposit a small (bloodstained) square package of foil (heroin dreams) within sight of her wake

(...................will you remember I promised more...)

hand flattens along his abs, sliding to hip pocket, a hard eyeglass case joining the glittering foil, then the film reverses (backdraft - twisting) in on itself, his body recoils, slinking back into the door - quickly now - the hallway, firmly shutting the wooden barrier between them
Posted by asher at July 15, 2002 12:00 AM

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