February 2011
The night starts here, the night starts here, forget your name, forget your fear
The night starts here, the night starts here, forget your name, forget your fear
The pleasure part, the afterthought, the missing stone in the graveyard
The time we have, the task at hand, the love it takes to become a man
The dust at dawn is rained upon, attaches itself to everyone
No one is spared, no one is clean
It travels places youve never been or seen before
The night starts here, the night starts here, forget your name, forget your fear
The night starts here, the night starts here, forget your name, forget your fear
You drop a coin into the sea, and shout out Please come back to me
You name your child after your fear, and tell them I have brought you here
The scary part, the aftershock, the moment it takes to fall apart
The time we have, the task at hand, the love it takes to destroy a man
The ecstasy, the being free, the big black cloud over you and me
And after that, the upwards fall, and were we angels after all?
I dont know, I dont know
The night starts here, the night starts here, forget your name, forget your fear
The night starts here, the night starts here, forget your name, forget your fear
You drop a coin into the sea, and shout out Please come back to me
You name your child after your fear, and tell them I have brought you here
The night starts here
Room for one
Inhabitant number three
An ideal view to the sun
Come home to me.
I can draw a map
Upon my forehead, my skin
A projection of the dead.
If you choose to entrap
The tiny zombie residing within
My skull, I'll try to mull
Over the time that we lived.
Face-to-face we stand,
Our toes sinking in sand,
Maybe it was about time
We let go.
Room for one
Inhabitant number three
An ideal view to the sun
But you never chose me.
What you thought about
when you looked at me,
With your makeup falling off
dripping down your cheek like
a black little stream
I don't think I ever chose
to understand the tiny bits
That remained in your eye,
The things you could have lied about
but you didn't
And now I stare at you like I stare at a book,
Your pages torn apart and away,
Only the frame of you left
And I wonder,
If it was me. If it was him. If it was us.
There's nothing wrong, it's just a taste of what you paid for...
Posted on
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
The Third Room
I knelt down on the black staircase to pick her up. The weak metal steps trembled beneath us as I helped her ascend, my arm around her waist, lifting her by the ribcage. To be quite honest I was having the worst case of second thoughts, my mind so wild it took me most of my concentration not to let her tumble down the stairwell as though I were a kid experimenting with her Barbie — mine were always into extreme sports and, eventually, they all disappeared down the laundry shoot while trying base jumping in the dark. I glanced over the railing and into the darkness looming on the ground floor, listening to the soft, short breaths of the woman I was holding onto. It was growing colder so I tightened my grip, mildly hoping that the little bodily contact would provide me with warmth.
The hallway was empty once we reached the end. I could feel my pulse echo in my ears as I pushed her over the last few steps, her half-broken heel dragging against the floor as she tiptoed next to me, the one that remained intact sounding deep into the dusky corridor in its red apparel. We must have seemed like the distorted figures of a music box, our feet dragging across the wooden floor in hushed song while we ceased to spin. I need not try and depict the emptiness that resided within us — within me — removed from the safety of our box and our music.
Once at the door I placed her by the wall, pinning her against it with one leg while fumbling around my bag for the keys. I stole a quick glance at her face as I searched through every pocket and crevice, a shy, lifeless smile curling at the corner of her mouth. I lifted her from beneath her arms once I got the door open, carrying her all the way to the table in the third room. I lay her limp figure on the plastic-covered wood, proceeding to remove her shoes while letting my eyes feast on the sight that could have, at one point, been of my possession. I dug the crumpled bills out of my pocket and straightened them out on the table before placing them next to her hand.
“I’m sorry, love,” I whispered, leaning in to place one last kiss on her forehead. “You take care now, okay?”
She wouldn’t look at me, or at least that is how I let myself think, as I knelt down beside her, resting my chin against the table while examining her. After a few minutes I got up, fixed my hair, snatched the red heels from the floor and walked out, leaving the door open for the next visitor.
I'd like to have an extra day of the week only for reading, writing and videogames. And of course sleeping. That's my wish in life. Another day so that I can rest a little, since the weekends seem not to consist of resting anymore but of schoolwork, stress, dance, more stress and less and less writing if my brain gets too tired, as it is now. I have bruises on my knees, my calves, my ankles, the sides of my feet or whatever real name it is that they have... And pretty bad bruises on my study-brain. I just want this week to be over, I actually want these next two weeks to be over so I'll have passed a few more deadlines. While I preach for insanity to try and evade me I'd like to seek solace in literature but... as can be seen, my poetic abilites drift to normal posts about my day since I cannot write real things. Somebody hug me.
