Late night tale

What will be your legacy?

The earth will continue to turn over as the day melts into the misty night of the lonely. The seasons, with all their trappings will parade through time like compartments on a train; heading for an unknown destination but one that feels familiar.

What will you leave behind Jack, to a world already brimming with forgotten stories? Of people who have already done things that you crave to accomplish. Your life sits in the valley of the forever reaching, watching the clouds pass that offer hope and rain.
He held the phone to his ear, the ringing echoing in his skull like a voice in a seashell. He drew a pattern on his shorts as he awaited the click, the delayed static before they spoke. Looking outside his window he could see the half-moon poking its jagged edge above the trees. The clouds fluttered over it, shielding its full brilliance and illumination. Holding back the hope, and the light that didn’t even belong to it. The moon was a thief after all, growing infamous off the sun’s illumination.

“Hello?” the voice answered, the tinge of annoyance already present.
“Hi, how are you?” Jack said, clicking his fingers. He was nervous and angry; which had always been a dangerous mix.
“Fine….” they replied before following with “…you?” God forbid they be rude to the others listening. God watches all after all.

Even the devil? Jack wondered in that moment, as the moon ascended the top of the trees now and glared fully for the first time.

“I’m okay thanks. I was wondering if you wanted to talk?” He asked, trying his best to sound inviting, make his voice something that would open up the soul that had shut him out for nearly a week now. He knew it was a stretch, his feigned reassurance always came across as hostile for some reason, like razorblades in candy bars badly hidden.

“Not really.” They replied. He could hear music down the line, cutting the awkward silence that would be building now like a monstrous hill.
“That’s a shame. I thought by now you would have had time to think, and perhaps something to say to me. You know, you’re not being very fair.” Jack said, his voice stayed level. He was annoyed, it had been going on too long now. The uncertainty was eating away at his impatience, combusting his state of mind.

“Well, I’ve kinda said it all already. What else is there to say?” No remorse, no softly spoken words to reassure. Just the cutting knife of the reality that he had feared all along. Did they know how many nights that week he had cried into the pillow that their head used to sink into?  The smell of their hair long since gone. It had been ages since they had stayed over. A month and a war in the space of their relationship which was now halting, wheezing and ready to collapse into the river of time that pulled all things away.

He wanted to shake their head and heart, unhook the kindness that seemed to have been placed behind iron walls and stony facades. He knew these words betrayed their real feelings. How many times had they said they loved him, how many times? Less than he had ever uttered a nasty voice spat inside his own head. His mind had been a petri dish of all ill thoughts and worse case scenarios this past week. Suspicion breeding like virus as self-doubt was on the rise.

“I want you to say, you’re sorry I guess.” He blurted out suddenly, regretting it instantly but proud somewhat he had said it at all.

“Sorry?! Me?” the voice replayed, taken aback by such an innocent requests which echoed unwelcomingly in their own private world of self-preservation and denial.

“Yes, you’ve not been kind to me. You know how I feel, and you know what buttons to push.” He said.

There was a long silence, the music in the background having been turned off momentarily before. The break hung like Christmas decorations in March, out of place and conjuring conflicting memories.

“I’m…I’m sorry Jack.”

He was surprised, then overcome with panic. It was the goodbye he feared. The closure they needed and the thing he had orbited around. He had given them the ticket to depart and leave him forever. A clear conscience can flee with ease, and freedom only helps you say goodbye.

How long he had stayed on the phone, he didn’t remember. They must have clicked off a while ago as the moon now indicated to him the night had come. The darkness was here, nothing more now, and the nights were to be cold and desolate.

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While you were out

A kind word cupped in my hand like a wounded sparrow.
Its wing, contorted and bent like these preconceptions.
Without you, I move much too much at random.
Wondering what lies beyond those windowpanes.
Beyond the chasm that stretches in my mind.
I wonder where you’ll find me.
Dressed in my finery, like a made up lush.
Hoping for a dance.
Slathering my lips the darkest shade.
Horribly limited by my circumstance.
I count the colours that separate us now.
A warming tangerine smile that mocks and devours me.
With sharpened teeth I ready myself for the assault.
A swift attack on the loneliness that engulfs my saturated mind.
Soggy and heavy, absorbed of the dark walls that creep into my eyes.
As the scene rattles into view, I wake once more.
Peeled and unravelled, with the juice of reality staining my lips.

Fly me to the moon

Into the shuttle, with a clink and clank.
Climbed old Richard, the adventurous Yank.
He counted down, from ten to zero.
Puffed out his chest, as America’s new hero.
And he soared into the sky, with his hands in his pockets.
As he shot to the moon on the back of a rocket.
And the earth dripped away under the clouds and his feet.
He smiled at his fortune that was ever so sweet.
Yet alone on this flight, bound for the lunar oasis.
As his body hung on earth in a medical stasis.
In the nursing home called Cherry palm, Richard resided.
At 92, was the best place his children decided;
For him to live out his days in comfort and care.
Little knowing each day was full of lonely despair.
And that is why, though medicated it’s noted.
He navigated the world, and now space where he floated.
And he went where he wanted, on his own in his head.
He had travelled to the moon without leaving his bed.

Home

She sits alone as the twilight encases everything.
The end of a night that offered little in the way of change.
She carries a sadness with her, down the escalator and into the train.
An unpicked flower that danced at the wall.
Bating those eyes with all the world to devour.
Those lines on her tights that follow a path to another solitary bed.
Sheets that will smell only of her, and a mind left free from interference.
Where does she travel to on these tracks?
With those unkissed lips.
Those eyes that contain a secret reason for her circumstance.
I watch her go, out the doors and into the cold tunnel to the surface.
Stalking in death strides to a land I never wish to return.

Raging storm

Your clouds are black.
Coffee stained and lava grey.
Swirling and destroying like a tornado touching down.
Soaking me in rain dripped misery.
Sucking the bolts from my foundation.
There’s no calm in your storm.
No eye to your needle of chaos.
Swelling your seas in the face of my defiance.
Shouting into the winds of your frustration.
But you are just a ragging storm.
Lost in my lonely hurricane.

Lonely tree

In the forest, all alone.
My lonely tree feels as cold as stone.
Surrounded everywhere by branches.
That bend and twist to their own advantage.
We shake in the wind, and shiver in sadness.
Sunken in our disturbing madness.
Until one day you came into the woods.
Scared the animals and riding hood.
Yet the wolves they ran, and hid like rabbits.
Convoluted out of their own bad habits.
And into my glade you stepped so proudly.
And struck a match and yelled out loudly:
“Love is a flame that burns us under!”
And as quick as lightening, you lit me like thunder.
So my lonely tree, burned quick and sadly.
And I faded away, into death quite glady.

Hold on to me

You’re the one who comes between us.
Coughing out your IQ, slipping your hand behind the couch of the night.
Leaving me always chocking on your haemoglobin.
Shooting to the sky, and yet careful not to fall.
My eyes are wide, yet they scarcely see you.
The black of loneliness that you leave me with. Weightless and bare.
In the dark, it all looks the same; until you set me on fire.
Warming your hands until I burn to a spark.
Killing me before I get too old.
These words from you are too vulgar, yet I say thank you.
Breathing them in and setting up homes for them inside of me.
Precious fragile fragments of attention.
Your racing heart surprises me, and brings me back; brings me down.
Simmering into something else.
I come back to you in pieces.
Littering your soul.
I know you want to stop.

The fall will kill you

Place my down, turn off the lights.
My eyes will readjust. My skin will fall away.
Dizzy as I spun, thickening in that web.
Up to the sky, such pedestal wobbling.
Take my hand, lick the blood away and hug my bones.
Take my inside.
Push and shove through the thorns to the heart.
I can’t let go, it’s the way I feel.
I got used to all the mistakes, and never being fully healed.
You let me fly. High up into space.
Signalling the satellites. Swimming in the stars.
Flying with you over rooftops and tragedy.
They all wondered where we’d gone.
It was so easy.
Then it all began to fade and you were gone.
The explosions of clouds masking your departure.
Lonely airspace circling and suffocating..
Now all I see is the rush of gravity.

Insatiable beings

Picking at the itch, scratching at the pain.
I unfurl my skin and peak inside. Where my subconscious lies.
The reasoning for all my trauma, the soul I once tried to hide.
I seek them now, in my quiet isolation. In this quiet reflection.
This pensive state saddens me, it makes me wonder what I was thinking.
The justifications for existence slip away into the dust of tomorrow.
Analysis this then please Sigmund Freud: My heart beats inside a skull while the brain drifts into the unknown.
I am subservient, I crawl to meet their needs. The spineless state of perfection that I secretly enjoy.
What mold did I break from, why are these thoughts no longer my own?
I wriggle and writhe in the sub text of this love, the self-serving reasoning and boot licking.
Underneath that there lies my clinging behaviour. My abandonment factor.
The mildly reassuring nature of my schizophrenic tendencies, knowing I’m never alone.
I sit and chew the fat, and choke on the truth in this carnival of sinners.

Cascade (Care for)

This talk of syncretic rhythm.
Finds me cowering under the pillows. Filling up my ears with atoms and ghosts.
It rocks me into unsteadiness.
These thoughts you conjure, they hurt me.
Your words are like weapons, sometimes they cut too deep.
Your blitz came and went, leaving my cathedral of love intact; if not surrounded by smoke and dead souls.
Standing at least.
I sing out a lullaby and light a candle here in the dark.
My sky machine is set to 7, and stars cascade like a celestial waterfall.
Blood on the rocks, bodies in the water. Drowning in the Milky Way.
If you lick my skin, you will not taste milk and honey.
If you bite my flesh, all you will see is bone and cartilage of sorrow.
The blood drool of your passion, a butchery banquet.
The smell of revenge in the air sends you up again.
Higher, over the moon and into my bed.
Into my head.
Ripping apart my lonely grey. Making my eyes dazzle gold like a bruised sun.
As I crawl back to the sea.

Colour in the rain

Why do you spin the room, and force me to the floor?
The bottle says ‘drink me’, though I know it contains your ignorance.
The ground shifts, and the quake in my bones does not disturb my reasoning.
You split me in two and try to repair me, gluing together bits of sawdust and distaste.
All I do is cough up feathers.
As the shaking subsides, I fall back into breathing; simple systems that keep me going.
I’ve found no you replacement cruxes, yet I feel the air on my skin.
Do not mistake this bow of respect for subservience.
Please do not take my kindness for weakness.
I may have built you up to a pedestal height, but I can rise to the top of the sky also.
Eat me, and I have a number of times.
Felt you in my mouth along with the cold harsh realisation of commitment.
The one armed bandit of being loved.
I am not alone because I am lonely, my solitude is there because it’s lonely at the top.
Push me down and drag my soul through the dirt if it makes a better picture to view.
Erase the parts you don’t like, and place me into the boxes your OCD tendencies have immaculately arranged.
Like a mist I shall seep out, the strong miasma that engulfs then soaked up by the rain.
Watch me come down in colours that stain your soul.