Dear Karmic Lover,
You’ve been silent lately. What’s the matter? Why are you hiding? Cat’s got your tongue? Huh? I can’t hear you. Don’t want to hear you. Don’t want to look at you. No. It’s not that. It’s your face I can’t forgive. Each time I’m forced to see your face, my soul continues to repel your mask.
Those faint crow’s feet pressing around the corners of your plastic blue eyes make me wonder. What have you been hiding all of your years? Your aged flesh assaults my sensitivities. You are browned meat to me–all dolled up on the outside, yet still cold pink in the middle. Those prolonged static crow’s lines wrinkling, shrinking your flesh, never did match your heart’s true intentions. You really thought you had my soulmate wrapped around your fading mask, didn’t you? You were just temporary sustenance to him. He knows now you’ve been all along that tramp with a trap.
I have enjoyed counting your crow’s feet. They called me, even cawed unevenly at me, and reported everything to me. You were never real. You have been just as loveless as my soulmate. That was the reason why you, as his karmic lover, came into his life–to teach him to release his old emptiness so that he would one day bare his renewed soul to me.
He can’t stand you any longer. He can’t stand your perfume; you smell stale. Feathers told me that he’s done wanting to be with you. You see, he has slowly opened his eyes and now sees the confusion you brought to his mind. You’re like Satan, a copycat who replicated God’s Kingdom only to control and make men serve to his brag and boast. That you did by watching and learning how Feathers speaks. You thought that by stealing her soul, you would then bring her being back to him and make him believe you were her. Don’t you hide from me, you whore!
All this time that has passed, all you were doing was to try to be, and even become, someone you’re not. He loves his soulmate, Feathers, and you hate that; it burns you inside, doesn’t it? You are not Feathers. You will never be Feathers. You haven’t been able to reach her height. You can’t. You won’t. Feathers stands atop of the white foam sea. I sit on the pitch-black bottom of the sea. And in between those two places, my soul and his soul, share a floating space.
Black Cat Words 