Satellite

Taking one little step forward, being brave, being the mighty person that I should be, I then take two steps back. Sure, of course I admit it, that I can be brave. Today, tomorrow, the very next day and beyond, but this is something different. I could fight off a pack of hungry wolves until my dying breath, climb from a broken car destroyed in a horrific crash with no thought for my own safety, but this require more. Something. Something else.

I've seen you, been near you, even spoken with you, but there’s just that little extra bit that I haven’t done. There might be more than a million English words, within the worlds we endure, but the few to create the many are yet to be found. I might stutter, feeling my heart flutter, but I'm truly stuck within the gutter of my very own dream.

I can see the future, learning from the past, but that would be wrong as the moment is now and nothing else matters. I know this. I feel this. I even tell others the same story, that we’ve heard those millions of times, using the many words within that very same number. I could run, I could escape, but instead I just need to do what I need to do.

It’s a crazy notion, that singular motion, to open my lips to speak. I'm hardly a delicate person, although I often exhibit an amount of finesse, so I wouldn't ever want to throw a brick into the softest of moments. I'm that failure within the second. We've all been there. What we should have said. What we could have said. Chastising ourselves while cursing the many fruitful words within that mentioned vocabulary.

I know what I need, I know everything that I should say, but it’s not the right time or moment. Silence is not actually golden. It’s horrible, it’s a curse, that many believe to be the splendour of control. We do say too much, too little, not enough, while pretending to be all that we’d wish to be.

I look to the floor, noticing those two steps increasing the world between the two of us. My body screams as it most certainly knows what it wants, what it needs as well as desires and craves. My mind grasps at stability, the quiet, the wonderful balance within all things and, that heart, that wonderful heart of mine, cries to find a home. It could live anywhere but that’s the crutch of our very soul. The four all sated, the mind, the soul, the heart and the body. All mixed together in the concoction called humanity.

I'm spinning around you, gasping for breath, my heart beating like that crazy young fool that I’d forgotten about. It’s so easy to feel, to explore, but what do you do when you’re not willing to place one foot in front of the other. That spinning, the trajectory of things, all wanting to simply come together, forever, for maybe longer than that.

I'm that satellite. I'm the one that has seen so very, very much. I've cried, longed, escaped, lost, lived, explored, broken myself, found myself, thrown myself away and returned to fix it all again. I'm spinning around you, flying at a speed of 17,000 miles per hour, with no way to stop. I'm sending the signals, asking for you to receive, but maybe we’re on different channels, scrambled or worse. Maybe, just maybe, I need to escape this orbit and simply, easily, just come back down to earth.

After all, no matter what is received, a satellite lives to provide and that’s all I've ever wished for.

Click to Listen

Eros

The scolding water flowed over his skin, falling, cleansing, removing the frigid dust away from his body. No matter the temperature it wouldn't harm him, change him, even forgive him for the things he’d done. Placing his head against the wall he closed his eyes, his strong frame tensing as his thoughts raged within his mind.

He was, so called, the God of Love. His very being, every single breath, supposedly dedicated to the very name given to him by his all-powerful Father. He’d watched the mortals, for what seemed to be an eternity, learning, understanding, realising that each of them possessed the capacity for such beauty it defied his every negative thought. For each moment he’d seen love fail, falling to dust, withering to nothing, he’d scribed against his very mind the moments that cured. The words that healed all. Held all. Kissed all and created such love that the heavens themselves rejoiced.

But he, this God, this more than mortal being, had once again fallen to a path not of his making. He held grace within his very touch, his voice holding the sweetest whispers to melt the sternest hearts imaginable, as well as the very kisses that could equal the sun within their solar system. He, above all the Gods, truly understood the finite chance to truly find the perfect affection. Love, for all, was but a thought away. To hold, to harbour a heart, was the dearest and most precious gift a person could give to another. Selfless moments, the holding of a hand, the capturing of despair. All within the boundaries of love. His love.

He, however, failed on so many occasions. He understood, all that needed to be understood. Each word, meaningful, each moment, precious, any act, looked upon with so many, many varying emotions. The water continued to flow as he looked to the stars above. The flaming water, still continuing to flow over his naked frame, warmed him, held him, trying to somehow free him from his own personal proclaimed bonds. He knew the answer, the answers held within the very cage that would and should allow each and every person, be they a God or not, freedom. He held all the keys, to his mind, heart and very soul.

He opened his mouth, taking the very air filled with fire into his lungs, and then exhaled with such force, that the ground below his feet shook upon hearing his thundering voice exclaim his frustration. Even the Gods felt pain, fear, as well as mercy for their own failings. He’d lived long enough, since the beginning of time, to know when he was defeated. Falling, as hard as he had fallen, for the God of pleasure was but a mistake of many. He adored pleasure, loved pleasure, but the differences were just enough to crack his very name in two.

Since the very beginning of their time, they’d noticed each other. From the shadows, within the light of day, playing the very dance of attraction that they’d both played on many, many occasions. To him, pleasure was but an indulgence, a gratification of thoughts, the inclination to have what you desired. As he found, after the shortest of times, that pleasure was but a passing second shared between many moments. The skin, the very flesh surrounding his screams, felt her touch over and over again. His love, his very name, becoming the name upon her thoughts and he had glowed. He truly ascended, upon the day they first shared their pleasure. The dance be done, the first kiss shared, then pleasure being something they both willingly embraced.

The snake, the wrapping of bodies within each other, curled together in such passion that even thunder failed to arouse them from their indulgence. Her grace, her never ending desire, tasting each other, placing his hands onto her body, fuelled his affection and this is where he fell. He knew that it could happen. He could see it, sense it, been taught the lesson by many a mortal, but being a God, surely, meant that he was above such things.

He was not. The truth of pleasure is that it could never be contained to one. With two. Or three. It never ended. The constant pursuit of new and exciting debauchery. To indulge, to coddle, the pampering of wanton desire meant a never-ending supply of selfish thoughts. He was more than pleasure. He was love and everything contained within the very word. He loved all, his energy never ending, yet to love one above all others, meant a sacrifice of sanity and safety. He’d fallen for pleasure, denied himself the safety of a kiss for all upon his thoughts, which meant that he now had to break the very power that he held within him.

His innocent heart, within his very chest, had cracked in two. His fists clenched as another silent scream echoed from his open lips, teeth baring their anger, every muscle tensing to the very extreme. He was impressive to all of the other Gods. A statue of pure perfection, his body being that of love, attention, focus and finesse. He’d dedicated his love, his affection, into becoming the object of love for any who looked upon him. An example, the example, for someone such as the Goddess of Desire to indulge her every whim. He ached, his every thought stumbling, as he reminded himself of the sins that her lips had committed upon him.

He smashed a fist into the wall, sending shards splattering around the surrounding area. He had lost control, he’d lost himself, with the very promise that he’d made being broken. He was not supposed to fall, he was not permitted to love but one, as his love was for all.

Tears rose within his mind, sending the thought to his eyes and, for the smallest of seconds, a tear escaped and fell to the ground. It seemed to happen in slow motion, as he watched the singular tear fall, all of his pain, his desire, his loss and longing, contained within that one tear. The moment, done. The thoughts, lost. He feared for what happened next as the tear struck the ground.

The earth beneath his feet cracked, shattering under the very weight of the suffering contained within such a precious thought. He’d never shed a tear before this very moment. He stood straight, stepping away from the destruction he’d caused. The very earth beneath his feet was precious, to all of them, with any building being a substance of their creation. No God, or mortal, would destroy what came before them. It was but a crater, a crack within a stone, but it was enough.

He felt the air around him change, pressing against him, as his view changed to black and then the falling started. He fell. He fell within the darkness. Faster and faster, with moments vanishing amongst his vacant view. He was falling from the heavens, cast aside, thrown away from his home, and then… .

Opening his eyes, blinking a few times, he threw aside the sheets. He lifted himself from the bed and walked over to the window. Looking into the city, the mortal city, he knew that he’d been cast aside, and he could not blame his Father, due to his very conduct over the last hundred years. He’d broken rules. He’d loved another forsaking the many. His very name becoming an indulgence of pleasure.

He closed his eyes, rubbing them softly with his fingers, trying to possibly erase the sight from existence but this was very, very real. His Brothers, as well as Sisters, had been sent here before to learn a lesson but this felt different, serious, maybe even final. He had a lesson to learn and, sooner or later, he’d come to realise exactly what that lesson would be.

The view seemed, to his weary eyes, magical. He’d seen the world from up above, looking down upon them all, for the longest time imaginable. He’d watched them crawl from the oceans, from their caves, scavenging, fighting, rolling around in the forsaken earth until they’d found peace. They no longer prayed to the Gods, as they once did, instead finding new Gods within their phones and devices. This supposed punishment, the exile of his faith to this existence, did not faze or trouble his soul. He loved the mortals, washed himself with their daily affection for one another, while secretly wishing that he could walk amongst them. That wish, for the moment, was here and he smiled for the briefest of seconds before recalling his thought mere moments ago.

From behind him he heard a knock from the door. He turned, his head slightly cocked to the side, wondering who could possibly be on the other side. For a couple of seconds, he stared at the door, not quite knowing what to do, how to act, or even how to feel about meeting a mortal. The person on the other side knocked again. Snapping out of his odd thoughtful daze, he walked towards the door. He opened the door and, on the other side, stood a woman. A mortal woman. The first time he’d ever seen such a thing. In the flesh, alive, living and breathing. Loving and more. His smile grew, “Greeting, mortal, how can I help thy heart on this very day?”

The landlady opened her mouth at the sight of a man, standing within one of her apartments, completely naked, “Is John here? His rent is due!”

“I know not of a John,” he replied, still smiling.

“You do know that you’re naked?”

He looked down and then back to her, “Does this body offend you somehow?”

Her eyes dared to glance down, for the briefest of seconds, before her skin turned a slight shade of red, “No, no, it’s very… good,” she replied realising that she was starting to stare at his chest and stomach, “John needs to pay his rent!”

“But how does one usually pay their rent, as I shall pay his rent from now on?”

“You usually get a job!”

The landlady smiled, took another look, then walked down the hallway as he shut the door. “A job? I shall have to get myself a job!”

Click to Listen

Quarantine: Pheromone

Brian studied his drink, the bubbles, the air within the madness of everything he looked upon. They said that everything happened for a reason, which was so damn obvious, that it defied belief when a sensible person placed any worth in such a statement. You push a marble, it moves. You push someone away, which eventually means that you’ll be alone. Alone for the longest time.

He’d never committed any actual crimes but blood, nevertheless, was all over his hands. He’d never pulled the trigger but seen so many broken people that he didn't quite understand why he still stood in the morning. Maybe he was waiting for something to save him, or someone, or anything at all. His body, tired, his mind, exhausted, his heart, so very, very vacant and cold. He did feel, he wanted to feel, but the brief moments quickly fell away to the inner silence.

Drinking the last remaining booze he nodded, to the barman, asking for a refill. Glancing to his side, noticing the newcomers enter the bar, he returned his vacant gaze to the newly presented drink. Wallowing, faltering, he knew that it would be only a matter of time before one of the women in the room would notice him and, once again, the same circular path would present itself. He couldn't help himself, it was, literally, woven into his very DNA. He couldn't escape the events and even a part of him didn't want to do so.

He would run but knew that he wouldn't be able to hide. You could never, ever, escape yourself. Cause, effect, rhythm, the rhyme of his beating heart. He started to recall their names, the many reduced to the few moments of time that he could recall. So many names, so many faces, so many moments of passion, of supposed love and then, within a second, nothing. In another place, another moment, even if he were another person, he’d be over the moon and loving every second of his gift. This wasn't a gift. It was a curse.

“Can I ask you a question?” a voice asked from just behind him. He closed his eyes, for a second, realising that the circular issue, within him, was about to start again.

“If you like,” he replied, “ask away!” This was his other curse, the curse of always being polite, despite knowing that he realistically wanted to be cruel, brutally clear, with the people that never left him alone.

The woman sat on the stool, next to Brian, as he turned himself to face her. Each time, every single time, he always found something so beautiful about each woman that sat next to him. Be it their eyes, their smile, the soft lips or the flowing hair. He mesmerised himself with their feminine charms, their splendour of flirting, the curve of their back or the soft touch of their breasts. He adored women, loved them beyond compare and maybe more.  He was, after all the years of practise, very, very charming and yet, as was often the case, he said too little, said too much, or maybe even didn’t have a chance with any of them from the very start. The world turned itself upside down, as he embraced their lips and enjoyed everything they had. He also, at every single point in time, hated himself for the things he did.

He, within a moment’s thought, engraved her features into his mind. Long hair, piercing eyes, with lips that he knew would commit such sinful acts. For him. With him. He smiled, returning her smile, knowing that he could say, do, or be anything he liked as his curse already secured the next few hours. Or days. Or weeks. He should be married, with children, many children, but it simply wasn't meant to be. He wanted a normal life, a sensible life, to hold one hand forever, but everything happened for a reason.

She leaned in, kissing him, her soft lips embracing his. Brian’s felt his body become weak, her lips simply destroying any bravado built within him over the many, many years. He’d lived for over two hundred years. Two hundred lonely years despite never actually having to spend one night, or day, alone. Hurtful years. Vacant years, with moments such as this moment, never actually being part of his life for long. He nearly fell from the stool as his body responded to her kiss. A kiss was, as always, a kiss, but his curse meant that every single kiss felt the same, tasted the same, the very identical emotion being placed firmly behind the intention. Not all people, to him, were created equal. There were differences, within intentions, surrounding emotions. This kiss, this very moment, was unlike anything he’d experienced in his entire life.

As soon as the kiss started, it ended and, steadying himself, his lips remained open as his eyes softened at such an event taking place within his life, “That… wasn't a question!”

“My question to you,“ she replied with such a beautiful smile, her eyes glistening, “is how many people have you hurt?”

Brian, shocked by such a question, quickly realised the situation that he found himself. Placing a foot onto the wooden floor, he started to push the stool away, to stand, “Don’t,” she said, placing a hand onto his chest, “Sit down!”

Brian sat, realising that the others with her were watching. Too many for him to run from, or fight, which he could do, but maybe it was time to face that big question, ‘everything happened for a reason.’ Sitting, staying quiet, he just listened to her speak. “It took a long time to find you, as you've done nothing wrong, per se, but you know what you've done. To many, many women!  You have to stop.” Brian lowered his gaze, looking to the floor for rescue, lost, spiralling, not sure what to say. He’d learned a long time ago how to deal with nearly every single situation but this, right now, was brand new. That fish out of water, the words needing to be spoken, yet forgetting how to even spell. He, instead, looked at her and smiled the saddest smile, with such loss written across his face. He knew. He damn well knew what he’d done. From nowhere a question arose within his mind, “How…”

She interrupted the moment he spoke. Knowing. She knew his curse, the secret of things. Maybe even more. “Somehow you've triggered the latent vomeronasal organ in women. We don’t know how, but we understand that it shouldn't function, or even exist. But you do. You’re a walking cupid, or curse to women.”  Brian knew. He damn well knew. The longer he stayed in one place, the more he chipped away at any defences they’d created over the years. Instinct, that overriding natural response between the sexes. His words, his voice, the way he gave them attention, his touch, his bloody kisses, all eventually meant that they’d suffer the worst broken heart imaginable. He did care, he wanted to care, but he lived on and on. Leaving them behind. Always. The pain he felt simply vanished after a while. His pheromones being the cause of so much emotional damage. Standing, in any place, within a few metres of the opposite sex, drove them towards him. The curse. He’d tried to tell people, find solutions, with most laughing at the very notion of such a thing.

“What happens now?” he asked, with a small amount of fear within his voice. He had scars, he had mental wounds that could never be eased, healed or covered, but someone he knew that he had, at last, found someone that was beyond his pheromonal reach. He had hope, for some reason, of living a normal life. He wanted to age, he wanted to die, but before that day he simply wanted to be with someone that chose to be with him, not because of some curse, but because of a genuine need.

“What happens now is that you come with us. We have a place that can help. Brian, I’m Rebecca!”

Brian smiled through his guilt, knowing that she knew his name. Finally, after all the years, a weight had been lifted from his soul. His mind. Maybe even his heart. “Come on,” said Rebecca as they both stood. Nodding to the barman, they both walked towards the door and, as they neared the exit, another woman appeared to Brian’s side,

“Hey handsome, how about you come home with me tonight?”  Brian, usually, would accept but before he could say anything, Rebecca stepped between the both of them,

“Sister, you have no idea of what you’re getting into. He’ll break your heart into a thousand pieces and then walk away. Besides… ,” Sarah stopped, glancing at Brian, “He’s coming home with me tonight after being in Quarantine!”

Brian, looking confused, carried on walking as Rebecca grabbed his jacket, leading him outside. Whatever happened next, Brian knew, that it would all happen for a reason.

Winter

The cold, the creeping temperature of loss and foreboding, creeping into my life within a moment’s thought. It defiles, uses, knows no bounds or given limits. It reeks, it cares for not a soul, yet is welcomed by some as the darkness greets the night.

I've felt the cold, around me, wanting me, wishing to invade my very soul but I deny such things. It’s not for me. Never has been, despite my shoulders bearing the brunt of its wicked grasp. I walk, I continue, but the muscles within my body tighten together as they give in to such things. I despise the cold, the empty freezing moments, yet still know its name from within my very heart.

We've all felt the moments. Those moments. The warmth surrounding  you, bathing you, ensuring your survival but when you blink, for even a second, that feeling can be stolen. Replaced. The very warm air turning to form the breath of nothingness. The ice filled chill, the breath from your lungs, showing you the moment before you turn away.

We surround ourselves with warmth, bath our skin with the softest clothing, the deepest covering, trying to outstay such moments. Even in the brightest day you know that the blackest night is but a solitary notion away. Warm yourself. Warn yourself. Keep your body safe and soul alive. We are but puppets to the cold nature of the world. There is that sunshine, as mentioned, but no matter the warmth your soul can still be infected with the cold.

The iced nature of the few, infecting the many. The cold words meant for warmth, infecting the thoughts of all of us. Warmth requires energy, heat requires effort, whilst the cold revels within the death of a person’s emotions. To feel something, to hold something or someone, needs warmth. To betray, to chastise kind words, to truly abandon another’s worth, is but the stepping towards the vacant winter.

I feel the cold within, fighting me, wishing for me, to become something I never will. It begs me to consider a life of selfish desires. It asks me to place aside any emotional worth for others, in order to seize whatever or whomever I desire. I prey to never embrace that world, again. I ask for the fire within to rise up and denounce such thoughts. I beg for the mercy of my own bare-naked soul. I denounce a few of my thoughts. The cold moving life surrounding me, asks for more. I deny it. The weather in front of my eyes tempts my needs within the world. I again deny such notions.

We all live our lives within a majestic notion of mild perfection. We smile, we laugh, we hold the hands of the many while thinking of the few. We titter at the people frolicking through life, while knowing that we’re standing upon castles of glass. No matter what we do, no words that we say, can keep the warmth from escaping. We are born with bare skin and we will eventually fade towards that same place. Hold yourself, today, tomorrow, each and every single day. Find your warmth.

Find your warmth within every single word you think, speak or hear. Decry any mischievous people the words that may remove your fire. Roar within, be fierce, obey your needs, consider your wants, with each and every single day being the very breath of fire that threatens to consume you. Better to die burnt alive than to fade into the cold winter of nothingness.

I can feel the cold, right now, around me, within the very place I reside. It sleeps with me, within me, holding my very skin against its cold embrace. I deny its words, its whispering notions of coincidence. I know my thoughts, I can hear my own words, so I will continue to deny all notions of winter. It is not for my life. My thoughts. My dreams. My wishes or my lovers. It will never consume me, frighten me, or overcome my life.

The cold, the crawling temperature of loss and foreboding, creeping into my life within a moment’s thought. It defiles, uses, knows no bounds or given limits. It reeks, it cares for not a soul, yet is welcomed by some as the darkness greets the night. No more.