A Descent Down With The Crows Poem by Dan Caliolio

STAY FOR ME THERE! I WILL NOT FAIL!

TO MEET THEE IN THAT HOLLOW VALE.

-Henry King

Introduction

Cherish what the night brings, for it's the only peace you'd ever get. Night is where you achieve the state of paranoia, but later on, you'd discover how sleeping can be your personal wonder drug. Sometimes, you would wonder where you are, what time it is, and what you're doing. But then again, skeptics only call it a nightmare- I call it reality. Isn't reality the reason such nonsense is born, and aroused from the different sides of the story? -'Aye'- the only word you can insinuate to make the night what it is supposed to be- The deafening villain of the day, like infidelities marking their hearts for sale. Peculiar, I believe, that the foresail of a miscarried marriage will be the picture to a mental discourse of the used up husband, and the burnt out wife-just like the wick of a wax candle, shivering in flames.

The wordings in Vows are nothing more but invigorated cliché's-merely on account. Whist has the doves been set free, for their intellects are more humane than what mathematicians could behold forth the table. They'd aim towards the sky, like a rocket to the moon-hoping that words can love the gentlemen, and they beloved women. The presence of love is a mere distinction of fact and fiction, for marriage brings uncertainty, rather than love-filled lips-solitude is the friend, the dearest companion of a successful missionary. And take no word for granted because the seizure, retrospect, and the challenge was to be dauntless, and happy-or miserably complete…



The.Story.

In spite of everything I've overcome, I'm steadily breathing under the wing of my beloved wife-standing on edge of the abyss, the deepness of the bedstead, and sea underneath the blankets. I've been sick, and prescribed with medications that deal with my wit. Schizophrenia is sickeningly overwhelming-not perceptible in proportion with happiness whatsoever. Paranoia and depression wrapped around me like leeches, inching for every dropp of lush blood that served as the masque in their parasitical lives.

Our house, the oldest colonial house you'd find. The platform supporting the depth of the gut-wrenching basement would be vertically adjacent to the only bedroom present in the old Victorian. The basement is spine-chilling, cold, shrill, and fierce-it's the normal scene of a worn out ground floor. It's paved with nothing but the sharp-edged concrete floor, accompanied with rusted pipes. But the cellar, rustier than what I call 'secondhand', felt like the desert in the bleak point of midnight. And the bedroom, dare I say, was cadaverously filled with satanic pictures bolted on the joints of the room, where the fungus-filled ceiling met the corner of the black painted wall. Collages, a bunch of them, we're haunting my every notion when I toss and turn, with the lovely wife. And, it stares back, the pictures, like the distressed calling of the whispery woods outside our home, our desolated sanctuary-Ours. My love. Jasey.

Jasey was living the harsh reality of abandoning her golden plated name in Vegas, when she said 'I DO' in a twenty minute ceremony at the Chapel, where the priests become twenty minutes richer, supported by their piratical plans. I, on the other hand, could scrawl a moment in rotting Las Vegas-living the high life was expensive, yet cheap. We'd settle and woo each other in the outskirts of North Brunswick, New Jersey. Vows were spoken clearly, written on blank papers, which took five minutes to write. Five minutes that felt like a lifetime.

'Speak now or hold your peace, shattering into pieces', said the priest. I was morosely unjust to keep my promises, but not this time. 'Dear, I'd keep the beating of your heart, always, guiding my mentality. I'd keep your heart next to mine. Accuse me not, but do so forlornly, slowly, and utterly untimely.' Well, we've been brought together.

Through the midnights, we've made love, and conjured our best of screening the street light, which served as the only light present in the room, for the fluorescent bulb was shot, and there's no kerosene to fuel these ancient lanterns. I'd drown myself in 'one liners', Jasey held the curse of curves. It was melody. Through body languages, we sang songs that lasted for hours.

As time ages, I saw in her eyes, the glare, and depression that she's never been prone of. She's a rebel, a show girl; she was the best liar I know. She always was.

Those everlasting days, I'd see her, prompt in bed, ever so inviting. I'd converse, but she'd push off. She's intense. She's tired, always.

For many a times, I'd fall in the deepest sleep I've ever been, and wonder where Jasey might've been. I've dreamt of the worst. But it was just I, citing the pessimistic scenes, and the pathetic hysteria I've always been since, well, since discovering I was distraught. The medications are murderers. And it formed barriers between lust, and nightmares. Some days, I'd see her under garments, plastered all over the '91 Camaro, and hand prints across the windows painted with moisture from the deep coldness that surrounds the peace of our sanctuary. I'd suspect that our marriage fell to pieces in peace, but no. I am a little too self-evident to believe that nonsense. Am I too blind, too boastful, too idiotic and moronic to be paralyzed by my own wife? Clearly, she's impervious. Now I know.

Lipstick marks are clearly evident; I've seen 'em, on the secondhand sofa, the half cracked bathroom mirror-even on our bed. They mock me. And they continue to contrive in doing so. I've been vexed, thinking how I fell for a mockery like this. I've lost touch on how I want her, how I lust for her, how I loved her. I-I Hate her!

For hours, I'd watch her sleep the night away, twitching, as she dreams her lovely nightmares that she never deserved. Ha! She's become so pathetic in hiding the lies her tongue has been giving. She's become the worst infidelity, the worst. Indeed I realize, that through out those dreadful hours above the bed stead, just gazing upon her hypocritical face, that I'm on my knees, acting like jester for the Queen. Ha! Haha! Pathetic. Hm…there is a third party in the scenario…who? But who? Distgust fills my brain which not only speaks the truth, but constructed a rigorous distinctness of outline as to who she might be seeing.

For nights, I'd watch her sleep, sweating her deceitful dreams away…just watching. And waiting-thinking of what to do. She's my alliance, yet, she's my enemy. I lust for her, I want her. She's a vulture that ruptured what I thought I had, but it was a cheap-shot; I never had defiance from myself. I'd want hysteria-I want to do the only deed I've only dreamt of doing. The grotesque thoughts infidelities deserved are to be dealt of as morbid innocence shown in every Saw sequel. An army of substantial had turned into anguish, distraught, lust for blood, the quest for blood, the truth, basically. I'd still laugh at her…in her sleep, dreaming the nightmares she deserved. I'd give her pity.

The wanting has come to arise, and this also has aroused my doubts exponentially. It was not fair for me, to breathe in solemn nightmares, but I'd do any shameful act, because I'm shameless. The mediocre lifestyle got old, it's still was young, but it got old. I wanted redemption, against her, her partner, her mate, anyone! She's beautiful in her sleep, so beautiful, peaceful, yet horrid, cunning, and immoral. She was the epitome of the epiphanies that caused the ungrateful blasphemies to retreat, far out than I could ever imagine.

Night fell, as I told her 'I love you. Love my dear, was thought of as a conspiracy by our great writers. But, Poe never believed in love. Love wasn't special. Love was demonic, love was dark, love was weak. Mr. Poe was a very brilliant man, Jasey. He knows oh so well. I want you, to get the best sleep you can, because sunrise my dear, is too far, yet too soon. Sleep. The stars will keep you company, and from the looks of it, it'll be bright tonight. Goodnight lovely Jasey…'

That night, was spectacular. It was the night I saw what I had to do. To do the deed I was set out for.

Up on the bed stead, I stood, watching below. As I walked up to the closet, the floor boards creaked, like they've never creaked before. Jasey whimpers. I kept going. The shears weren't that far. But the closet handle, was stuck. I jerked it once, twice, in thought that it would work, based on pernicious experiences. Jasey moans, and turned, still, in her sleep. I never moved a muscle, camouflaging myself in the thickness of the night. Luckily, the clouds blocked any star light from entering the room. I tried it again, as I forced it open. No luck. Not even a budge. I need the shears. I banged on the door hard, but not quite as noisy. I threw myself at the closet, but by this time…Jasey awoke. I stood still on the floor, hiding myself in the shadows of the night, as I hear Jasey call out my name. In retrospect, I'd jump in for what I have been thinking of doing for many nights..

I lunged at her as hard as I can, as she scratched, and hit me along the way. I was blinded for a moment, but I had it, the grip on her throat. It was unbearable. Haha! It was mystifying. I squeezed as hard as I could, squeezing every single breath she had…out. I'd want the perception of her, standing between the lines of life and death, between heaven and hell. My apperception of the situation was easy; I want her alive, only for the moment. The clouds had gone by now, and alas, I was face to face with the vulture, the showgirl, the liar, my love, my Jasey. She was unconscious, she had no pulsations, she was lying on the floor…dead. Ha! She was dead. I buried my head deep among the blankets, and these protected me from myself, during which I felt the shrillness of her voice, still rummaging through the air waves.

I looked at her cold, beat corpse, with no spots of blood in sight. It was a sight I'd been dreaming of for days…weeks? For a long time. Déjà vu never felt so perfect, so substantial, s-so right. In my astonishment, I stutter to lay these words as her personal Jester, 'To You. To Me. To Us, on our anniversary.'

T'was that night, when I felt her breathe the warmest air into my hand-her touch, her guilty pleasures. I've been alone, but it hasn't been too long. Because last night had been our anniversary. Last night, I murdered her lies, for infidelities don't deserve anything. Ingenious isn't it? Cunning, I am. She's there, lying still on the concrete basement floor, where she could play along with the defiance of the truth. I could feel her heart, still beating, within me. I could remember the vows, the ever so deceiving vows, slithering through my tongue, being either struck with remorse for this crime, or as to render myself in the fact that I loved so bluntly…

I walked down to basement that seems to be wrapped around in some sort of mist, which surrounded me as I walked through. It was dark, cold, spine-chilling cold…I see her, her body, her corpse…and as of now, I'm the cadaver, because I'd want her heart next to mine. The scalpel, I felt in my hollow pockets, are sharp. I plunged it through her chest, plunged it so hard that my fingers got cut by the ruptured bones. With force, I cut like a diamond. I cut down; deeper, bloodier, inch by inch…I cut down. Minutes later…there it was. Her cold, selfish, lifeless heart. Never have I seen such a jewel, that sparkled in my eyes-never. I placed it near the gunwales, thus rendering myself to think. Who was the third party…? Who was her other partner…who? I grabbed her naked heart, and fled.

The trickles of water from the beaten bathroom weren't enough to clean all the blood off my hands. The bathrooms half cracked mirror stood still, as I steadily crouched down. I looked up, saw the slashes on my face, and then fell in my eyes. I was plunging deeper and deeper within my glimmering eyes. Deeper than usual, because,

There was no other man. There was never a third party. She was always with me. It was me. It had been me. Schizophrenia...Paranoia, split personality, it was me. Jasey, it was me. Darling dear, it was Me! No-no, it couldn't have been me, there were clear evidence, and I had no recollection, I had no visage. It was me…

I've wasted too many a times sighing my way out. Jasey, you will be missed. I've made a mockery of the so called 'Vows' that were meant to say 'calm before the storm.' I've failed you. Your heart aside mine, we'd see each other, I'm vertically adjacent, Jasey. The basement, and the bedroom…hell and heaven, that's the only thing Jasey. From account, I'd use a derringer to see you, for you're ever so inviting. My reformation has never been so unclear, darling. Please, take me back. Jasey please take me back.

A count from one to three, I'd see you. This scalpel, Jasey, you see this? This scalpel will bring us back. Ha ha, Jasey! I'll see you again! Count with me Jasey…Count!

I'll see you in the long run dear.

One…

Two…

Three, loves the only thing Jasey. Here's to our midnight anniversary.