Who's There?

My impressions have been seen but not felt

my words have been felt but not heard

my many tongues have tasted but never spoke a word

I've flown high but never high enough

I am trepidation

I am the nausea in your belly

I am the smell of sulfur in a candle lit room full of sodomites and sacrificial lambs

I am a skipping stone now plunging through depths known only to the earth itself and the loneliest of incubi

I cannot drown

I cannot swim

I do float in between crashing waves of disillusionment

I don't mind watching as it happens

my work is not soiled

it is soaked

wet and heavy

like a bloated bleeding heard

or a prize winning hog stuck with a butchers cleaver driven by mad ambition

I am in the making

sanity is waxing and waning

but especially the moon is aware

phases

are just another path

to another door

leading

inviting

dividing

with an outcome that's all the same

I know your love

what is my name?