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Humour me?
Fingers smell like death. It carves into your nails, Like your nails carved into them
Smoke in your hair, ashes on your jacket
Was not a murder, But you weren't a killer before tonight.
⚰️Happy Halloween!
He sat at the end of the table in a high chair looking awfully sad. His eyes were gleaming, but he didn't cry, only looked without seeing. He trembled ever so slightly, when I put my hand on his. When no one said anything for a long time, finally I took a seat to his left and poured us both some tea. It smelled mild, swirled with dark herbs, like the brew itself were also sad. Everything looked delicious, but in the end no one had a bite.
After everyone had left, when I'd gathered the dishes and was blowing out the candles, he spoke. Though his voice was quiet as the rustling wind, it startled me. 'I should have noticed' he said. I blinked. A million things rushed through my mind. All wrong things to say. 'I should have noticed, Alice' he repeated, raising his eyes to look at me. He was at the brink of shattering. Suddenly he stood, whisked everything in arms reach off the table, and fell back again. Then, after being closed off for so long, he could finally cry. 'We could have..' His voice broke. The shatters of porcelain crunched under my step. I knelt. I took his hands, and kissed them, but I felt empty.
In the woods near our house everything grows in circles. There's tall trees, but no leaves on the moss and the stars cast shadows like it's daytime. I made a soup one time of the mushrooms I found in each corner of the wood. White mushrooms, with wide hats, that taste like honey and cotton sugar. The recipe was for a soup, everyone had it at my birthday party, but it was titled 'making a savior' and it's a little strange I can't seem to find my way out of our yard, where the people don't look like my friends at all..
Some days I will look into the mirror and see a stranger. Or looking back at me might be someone I've been searching desperately on another day, yet now grieve to see. It is not that I'm a stranger to myself, my soul I know, but these expressions, they don't belong on a face I'd read as mine. This form betrays me. These feet can't carry, and this voice can't say.. it frustrates me. And I search. I run these fingertips across it, sometimes enjoying bits of it, sometimes wondering if there's somehow I might mold it to better fit. But the truth is there's nothing much wrong with the body. I might admire it even, were I not trapped in it. But it doesn't feel like it should belong to me, doesn't feel right on me.
One day she walked in, and just never walked out. I'd like to say she changed my life, but it's much the same. I work at one of those old everything-stores, with the owner, who's like a hundred years old & made of steel. He owns my apartment too, so I live in it, pay=rent, and live mostly on coffee & de-shelved snacks. Occasionally I get some extra cash flipping things I find lying around & fix. It's amazing how much stuff you can carry out of parties, once you just get accepted as the guy who hauls junk around. She's the girl who makes mixtapes for her outfits. Or maybe it started the other way round, I'm not sure. What I do know is mr. Steel's place has never seen this many extravagant coats. He likes her, 'cause she wears sturdy shoes and an infectious smile. I like her, 'cause even tho nothing's changed, with her I don't feel like it needs to.
Snowed in
'Wake up' she says in the littlest voice. It's a gentle request rather than a demand, and it leaves me unable to be as annoyed as I'd sometimes like to be. Not that she uses this power overtly. Then, I think, she might soon run out. 'All right, button.. What is it?' I mutter, pushing my covers aside. 'I need to use the stove.' A quick wash-up later I follow her downstairs. The setup in the kitchen tells me exactly how urgently the stove was 'needed'. She's measured milk into a kettle with two mugs, which now sit on the counter, cocoa powder put in. A spoonful for me, three and one sugar for her, peppermint for both. She sits by in her pyjamas, frizzy head drooping. Only after we both have a steaming mug in front of us, do I address the offence 'You know, hot chocolate isn't really an emergency. I mean how early is it, anyway?' She shrugs. 'At least we'll get ya to school on time..' 'There's no school today.' I acknowledge her with a hum. Looking out the window, where white fluff is still floating around, I slowly come to the realization she's waken me, so that we could do nothing, together, for as long as possible. I point this out to her, scoldingly, but the twinkle in her eyes says she knows I'm not mad. I put the mugs into the sink with last night's dinner dishes, and pour water into the emptied kettle. I figure since we're up before the alarms, we have a few hours to waste for pleasure.
She seemed intoxicated, only rather by exhaustion, than by whatever laced the cigarettes she'd rolled up that morning. One was just about to go out between her fingers. I took it from her, inhaled it back to life before tossing it onto the ground. It was weed, at least a third of it, tho the filters she used mellowed the taste. She looked at the bud somewhat saddened. 'Seventeen', she said, drawing a little x in the air with her finger. That was way too many, but she'd been cutting back admirably for weeks, and today was a rough day. I sighed. I swear, I thought, as who knows how many times before, if one more beloved soul leaves this wretched earth before mine, I'll cease. I looked at her then. Knowing I could never intentionally leave her behind, I sighed again, took a seat & lit me one of hers. Enough time to be responsible tomorrow..
He pressed the knife against my shoulder plate. I hissed quietly, and focused on my breathing. The glowing blade ran across my back, but the man was hesitating. I shifted. A little flinch, a drop of black.. The knife clanged on the table. I sighed and turned to sit up. Wrapping my arms around him I grabbed the blade, and ran it lightly from his pelvis to his ear, dipping through the skin ever so slightly. His eyes were closed. I lowered the knife to my thigh. There we drew a wandering line, cutting deeper into my flesh than was good for me. I didn't care. I loved this, loved him. Loved his blood, dripping into mine & burning my veins like my fingers burnt his skin.
He took the matchbox from my shaking hands and lit one. The whole thing caught flame easily. Hardly stepping away he dropped it on the ground, which sparked an immediate chain reaction. We'd done good prepping.
He wrapped his arm around me, and I leaned into him. It was a warm autumn evening; he had sundrops in his hair, the air smelled of wildflowers and gasoline. Running his fingers trough my hair he began humming a familiar tune, a lullaby father had taught me. I glanced up at him, and saw the reflection of our home in his eyes. Something inside broke and collapsed. I finally dared look straight at the house. The fire had spread quickly, already eating away at the upstairs outer wall.
Smoke began to clog the view before our lungs. He took a deep breath, and began guiding me gently toward the car. A single suitcase filled with books & paintings laid on the back seat. It was all we'd taken from our years here. I wrapped his coat tighter around myself, as we drove off into the world outside the manor.
We thought we were immortal.
We thought we couldn't be undone,
Not by anyone.
Least of all any man.
I can feel it breathing. It presses itself against my ribs as if to escape their cage. It grows with each breath, making it hard for me to exhale. I can't sleep. Can't shake the hunger. It wants more, it wants out. It wants me.
In my head I imagine a beast. A one-eyed hell-hound, a bitch with tacky fur & uncut nails. Restless, howling with the darkness within me. In reality it'd probably look more like me. Just.. wilder.
The day is done. I flick the half-burned cigarette in a nearby puddle. As the water ripples, for a moment I can see it's reflection beside mine. We walk away.
Final road
When you're half-way there, But you feel too late, Every ship has sailed, You're alone.
When you're almost there, But you can't quite reach, Holding on to believes, So alone.
‘What’s it like to be a human,’ Some wanted to know; ‘Nothing on your back, or above your head, But all in your heart?’
‘Inhumane,’ Said you.
And they nodded
And all cried, but you.
my hat's missing, this scarf used to be blue
but it matters not as I'm here with you <3
I want you to leave me alone in the darkness where nobody makes a sound
but I'm afraid of the loneliness the silence can be so fucking loud..
People want us dead when they most need us. Deep inside they know, We could help if they only let us.
And we keep trying, We come back again and again, & we get chased out town after town.
Until we become the crazy old lady in the woods, you always saw us as.
The curse of a good heart. The curse of (not) knowing better.