When you left I did not watch you go. I looked out into the ocean. The sky was a hazy blue. I pictured salt crystals turning into clouds as the gravel crunched under the wheels of your car.

We did not touch that morning. It was the first time. We said our I love you�s. There were no goodbyes. There was no parting hug. There was no warmth to offer.

I suckled you as a baby. I sang songs that have always been sung but have no words, just melody old and clear as the blood of the sky. I swathed you in clothes. You became flesh of my flesh and blood of my bones in the beginning. I am not your mother but from my wounds you were born.

We were born into a battle field. Each day we breathed we earned. I am only four years older little one. How often you have forgotten. You were jealous were you not? It is always this way with twins. It is always that way with gods. We clamored for blessings, praise, worship, as children do. I gave you yours. I told you over and over the words. Recited the chants, sang your praises, wrote your odes. In turn you gave me your pain. I sat down and ate. I swallowed first just little sips building tolerance. Then I pinched off the corners. In the years that followed I grew accomplished. I would sink my teeth into it, stuff handfuls in at a time. Seldom did I gag. Always I let you know that it would be okay. I grew fat. My skin stretched to burst and still I ate. I ate and I praised. You grew thin. Stunted. We took the form of the archetypal women. You are shaped like a child even now, while I stand tall as trees thick as a bear. You were jealous then. You are jealous now.

Sometimes I believe that the fates are weaving our destines. Other times I know all that they can do is record our histories. My lovely Judas, my womb, my blackest heart, my only love, we are the monsters behind the scenes. We picked this battle, and we drew the lines.

I can not die of this. You surely will. There is little left to you now. Disease moves in your blood, in your soul. You have forgotten you way. You will die now or you will live. There is no zombie powder for you, this half life doesn�t suit.

I do not hate you. I can not hate you. I saw it in your eyes that morning. I saw my flesh ripped from my limbs, your teeth at my throat. I will give you all if you but ask. Sacrifice has power to restore, murder imagined or real only destroys.

I will bear no child now. I am ripped. You clawed your way through me. I am glad. You were my gift to the world. You gave birth to a heir. Her eyes are still whole. Their blue light shines out like truth. You turn away from her gaze when no one is looking. You fear her purity. I have seen it, hundreds of miles away I have watched you turn away.

You matter less now than ever before. You mean more than you ever could. You are god. We are all God on the lips and breath of our children. You must sing the songs for her. You must clothe her. It is time to eat her pain. It is time to grow strong. You walk to the underworld and no one will be left who knows the rhythm. She will be vulnerable. I can not raise her. She lives in the other world. They do not know the lines that map out our territories. Once, I was a guardian, once I failed, and once I succeeded. There is nothing left to me. In the other world they can not see that we are twins. They do not understand that we are different sides of the same coin. They have forgotten more than can be remembered now. It is on you.

Battle against me in pointless. I am love for you, and vengeance for the world. I am love for you. I sing the praises. I smooth your brow. I kiss the puss from your wounds. I will not harm you. I am not your enemy.

Soon they will come for her. They will come in myriad forms and they will not stop coming. Their hands are soft as a perverts in a movie booth. Their minds making scratching noises. Their hearts are rotting holes where centipedes bread evil dreams. Now you must protect. You must guard. You must eat pain and spit out fear. You must survive. She has been born. Miracles, blessings, wonderment, your child is alive and she bears my name, Adia, woman who gave birth to God. Adia, woman who gives birth to herself. She is your salvation, she is your destruction. As my whole life was lead to save yours so must yours be to save hers. Do better than I.

*I wanted to repost this somewhere and so I did it here. It is my faveorite entry because it is so true. Not my child but born from my wounds...sometimes even I like myself.*

-Adipose

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