The Latest incarnation:

I will eat everything. Swallow it up and spit it back, masticated. I will rend flesh, cut heads from the bodies of the living. Close my teeth through skin, muscle, tendon, and bone until canine meets incisor. Half my blackness blanketed with bhasma. If I will it, I can increase from a few, or make many to be less. Daughter of Asteria, Nemesis to creation. I exist between all things and will tear them apart from the inside. Where I have midwived every god into existence, I will snuff them out again, quench their divine right. Smash their rebirth, create no doubles. My mouth burns with the gasses of Auschwitz. I will take all their children, not just the first born. Bequeath them to Tsonaqua. My eyes, bright cedar charcoal, I loan to she for I will send her out first to eat the children and then I shall consume her, reclaiming my eyes so that she too may know misery’s and suffering’s blindness. Absyrtus, I dismembered with my hands dripping with gold-flecked ambrosia and sanguine honey and in his red hollowing, I read my fate. For I am Tetragrammaton; my name must not be spoken. My breasts rest hard and ungiving; dry are my areolas, my loins. My only remaining gift: breathing back the breath of life; I inhale. Sternum fractures. Clavicles, jagged. One breath in, and never to exhale. As I was broken, I will break them. Grind their bones to bake my bread. I will lay waste their constructions/structures/buildings/places already built upon the graves and ashes of human suffering. Their walls were built up from the food which could have fed the oppressed. I will rend them. Skewer them and laugh at their petty games of chance and intellect. I will undo their carefully coiffed hair, pulling one hair out at a time until their scalps bleed in proportion to their own brutality. Medea like, I will sacrifice all the daughters of Eve, all the sons of Adam to save them from living this life. This horror of existence. To not be is better than to be. So that none may exist to experience the horror which is divinity’s/humanity’s greatest gift. First, I take the young still in utero so that they will only know what it is to be fed by life.

In the beginning. All was squished together. Hot. Dense. Spinning. I will take it all together again, sweeping up the detritus and re-compress it into a bitter pill and swallow it down. Then I will take my own life. Jump into oblivion. Break my own body limb from limb. Pulling apart the skin from the muscles. The muscles from the tendons, the tendons from the bones. I will pour out all organs and squish them until they pop. Burst. Bleed. Then I will unwind the proteins. The molecules of existence. I will uncoil the double helix and destroy the amino acids. I will pound the atoms, neutrons, protons, and electrons into their subatomic particles. Then, I will pull those apart until I can unspin the strings there. First, burn, then I will cool the fires of creation and all will reach zero. Nothing will be.

I have known suffering. I have received it, a poisoned gift from the gods, forced down my throat by parents, and teachers, and priests. I deliver it with hands cold and roughen with cruelty. I. Who people call an angel, saint, bodhivista, savior. I, who can settle for nothing less than saving everyone. I who must soothe all pain. I. Fields of anger lay fallow beneath the growth of submission and shame.

No. My heart is broken.

From the Chaos which bore me, I will return all things to that oblivion that place where no one can see or even think to see. No one will be spared. No one is innocent of crimes. All who have breathed live on death and I will eat them all and from me no life will come. I will eat the dead, the living, history and potential. I raise up Pandora to tear her apart, dismember her cursed Psyche. My essential compassion extinguished. I suffer as all of humanity suffers the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. I must end it all. I must end the love of Hyperion’s caresses. I must end the breeze which blows gently across heated flesh. I must tear out the tongue which gives and receives the kisses of creation’s joy and delight in its own mastery of being. I must still the dance of the muses, the breath of Music; puncture the drums which receive pleasure’s rhythmic touch. Leave no room for the roses’ breath to fill. Forbid Aphrodite’s rite. I must be the change.

I could refuse to ignore my own potential as an agent of suffering. Yet, I cause harm. Irrevocable harm. My words eviscerate and my mouth guillotines. I am not “good.” No such thing exists. Come close and I will hurt you. Run, and I will comb Nut’s hair to find you, unwind you, end you.