When Gods Speak

There are things we do that make gods speak

You guide me into it

My back pressed into the ground, skin smeared with sand and ash

And in my eyes only sky, only stars

But you are close by: the tightness in my stomach tells me

What I desire is wrong: the sacrifice. The horror. The frenzy.

But when we do it together it is right.

The primal need for my blood fulfilled.

So we do the things that make gods speak:

I cover my face with dirt, and feel my rib cage collapse under the pressure of your feet

Each bone snaps in ecstatic chorus

A shock wave of ache and fear as my spine folds in on itself

This is how I am opened

This is how I am transmuted back and forth

Through lifetimes

These rituals unfold again and again:

The torment. The bliss. The blood. The skin.

You are my healer. You are my savior. You are my destroyer. You are my life ender.

And only the gods can hear my desire: the strange craving for the pain you inflict.

But we have done this many times before

Lifetime after lifetime

It is the only way we can make the gods speak to us

I go as far as I must to hear their voices

And I do

So this is what I asked for

So this is what I suffered to find

So we stand still and listen.

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