By: Stygean Hugh
I lay in bed at night tortured and crippled by the terror of loneliness, with anxiousness force feeding me lines and lies, ; filling me with fear and dread. It’s this fear that drives me, I’m sure, to surround myself with the company of men. Dissatisfaction leaves my doors open to any possibility. Ten years ago I’d have laughed in the face of anyone who’d have balls enough to tell me that I would be so presently loose with my attention. And though mostly celibate, I can only imagine what the neighbors think. Alas, the transgressions of others matters not, as I must stay true to myself.
Each of them is different, each brings a different dish to the table. I cherish each of them for their unique talents and variety. While scrolling my social media archives I found a post in reference to a dream I had about Joe back in December of ‘14. I knew then he would become one of my many supporters, my fans, loves.
Amongst my stronger instincts I embody is seeing the future, yet I see Joe only in the now, not in the later. Not like Landon, and certainly not like Ricky. I can see them so far in to the forever, I think I’ve seen them in the before; before this life and well in to the next, in to the always. With both of them I knew so instinctively that they were lost loves from another time, another life, I have never been able to escape that nexus- Not then with Landon, and certainly not now with Ricky. I will never let them go, the laws of love and the universe won’t allow me.
I miss drugs, mostly Blow, especially when I am suffering from melancholia, and often imagine a stiff drink and a straight line would heal my wounded soul. This last year I have put some things to rest, leaving the past in the grave, but other things linger; haunting the ethereal of my heart, and with these ghosts bring the memories of undead moments, still existing somewhere. Moments I could dull or numb with a smoke and a snoot. I pleasantly recall Lady Morphine, both friend and foe, but still yet just a passing lover. When Lucy came in to my life it was at a time I needed her most, though then I didn’t know it. However, I am glad she came along to reveal the true colors of the world when she did.
However, it has always been Ms. Lady Jayne, she whose warm embrace has stood the test of time. No man- no arms- no romps in satin sheets- will know the love I know only with her- Sweet and sticky to my senses, , a love so divine words simply lack to give her any literary value. My love. My greatest love.
I know that which in my heart and mind to be true, that my mind is deteriorating rapidly, my thoughts uncontrollable at times manifesting themselves wildly in to reality. I fear this, and sheer loneliness itself.
Suicide seems logical at time; beautiful, poetic and horrifying- but logical. My brain longs for stimuli, while nimble, practiced fingers reject the convenience of the keyboard. I long to sit in the sun, to write of the men I love and who love me, the drugs that sustain me, yet I cannot bear the light of day. I linger through sunny hours in wait of darkness, my old friend and comfort.
It is in this darkness and from my window I expect to find Ricky perched in the stark, feigning to walk the dog as he noticeably notices me. The red candle sits in the sill, a beacon in the night to indicate the door is unlocked for him, unburned. In his unexpected absence, I long for his arms, smooth skin, and wet kisses. A comfort only he can give, yet he comes to me in dreams still- so still I wait- as I always tell him, right where he left me, unmoved, unwavering.
I am lost in my own heart and mind, a shattered, empty shell of me, never at peace. So glad to be away, so angrily forgotten.