underneath

It is resting, but it is always there. Alive and ferocious it sits, bated for now, just under my skin. I can feel it pulsating, as if its heartbeat were independent of my own. It waits for the opportune moment to arrest my ability to breathe, to do anything, to be. It grows from a tiny seed of light right in my core in a slow creeping crescendo of magnitude until every fibre in my body is alive with dangerous and vivacious electricity – and I am the channel through which the lightning will strike and ignite the Earth with the raw power that exists in the unknown depths of galaxies far away, coming from stars at such a distance that by the time that they come into our sight, may have been dead for millennia. 

I have no control, no choice but to surrender, but in my defeat is a bittersweet retribution; because when it takes over, I am in ecstasy, like dying. Drowning in an ocean of sweet death, my lungs being filled with intoxicating, agonising pleasure, I am dying. And I will wake up every day to die all over again. I will walk out into the dark ocean to be swept away by the gigantic force of waves that move like walls and swallow the world, I will walk out and I will be swallowed and I will die; but I will come out on the other side, somehow intact, somehow still alive, after having experienced a sensation so devastating that it was almost paranormal; and I will doubt my sanity and question reality. I will not know. I will wake up every day to die at the hands of this sweet rapture because the idea of not experiencing a moment of it is not feasible, because avoiding the drawing force of its energy is impossible, because after knowing the existence of this feeling what else would there be to live for?