An awkward conversation.

There was a dull chill in the air, a handful of stars in the sky. Her skin had taken on a pale defence to the night's weather, and yet still she sighed contentedly. She must've been sat on this mound for around four hours, more or less. Her legs had become slightly numb, but she needn't have realised for lack of movement.
"You don't always come here, do you?", Came a sultry Voice without intention, as though it had always been there.
"Well... no", she replied rather obviously, glancing downward slightly to the mound on which she sat.
"Oh", came the Voice once more, as though expecting much more of an answer, "Well... You aren't planning on leaving?".
"No actually", she replied wistfully, her colourless eyes fixed upon the few stars and the lack-lustre blue beyond it.
"Well it won't go away..." came the Voice, now seating itself beside her, though she paid it no attention, "That is to say, it won't come back? Well you know, that, that down there... it won't go away, but, the thing that it was, well... it's... gone. Yes. Quite gone".
"Aren't you supposed to be a little more... informed on this matter?", the girl asked quite naturally.
There was a pause after this, in which the Voice sat quite calmly at her side, imitating the girl's glance toward the stars. It shifted it's weight upon the earth now and then, and applied itself to an itch upon it's arm, but otherwise it was rather still.
"It just becomes a little bit of all the same... if you follow?", the Voice queried as an unidentifiable bird swept past heavily with one lift of it's wings.
"I don't I'm afraid. I'd of only assumed you were here to offer me something".
"Offer you something?", the Voice's velvety slithering tone took on a slight crackle.
"Well yes, advice, a choice, an offer, an exchange... Is that not how the stories go? The stories I had read as a child...".
"Well that should tell you it all! You were a child when you read them, things have changed", the Voice came with a classic huff, had it have bothered moving it would certainly have folded it's arms and turned it's head at this point. But it's ancient-tones shared enough.
"I am eighteen years old. And these stories have been passed to my school from the Greek times. I do enjoy reading you know", the girl maintained her wistful tone, her eyes ever upon the blues and silvers of the night.
"Well... do you not suppose you should be at home, reading then? There is not a sweeter way to mourn than to read into another view of life that you only wished was yours!".

Her expression did not change, but she said no more. A desperate and rolling cry came from somewhere nearby, of which the Voice assumed to be that recently passed large bird. It ceased, and the general clatter and scurrying of the middle of the night (which It was so very used to) became clear once more.
The Voice rolled it's hands around one another slowly, and glanced back to the mound on which they were sat. The girl had slightly sunken into the fresh mound of earth, having been sat on it for so long. Little tufts of grass from either side of the mound were poking through and swaying in the breezeless eve, and the stone of which the mound leant slightly against glistened silently and still in the silver glare of the moon. It looked alone, and for the briefest of moments, the Voice felt rather sorry for the girl. But it passed, as it always had done.
"Look", came the Voice once again, after a long quiet, "I didn't mean what I said, I suppose, well... you know... you've got that job at that bar and... well, don't you just get irritated when customers tell you how to do your job? Not to say you're a customer... Or even a client, I mean, this is different...".
The girl looked slightly toward the Voice, and sighed. He really was mumbling on about nothing, and with her view on life as it currently was, she was aware that she no longer had time for such rambling.

"Suppose I were to just stay here with you", the Voice's classic tone said later, "Suppose I never bothered others again, nor stalked the night, nor exchanged anything or made any deals..."
"Have you not collecting to do?".
The Voice went to reply, but for the first time in history, was politely interrupted.
"Excuse me for stating, but in all the stories, in all the books and the unwritten legends... you are rather important. You are feared so much as you are necassary, or something along those lines. If I were to grant you to sit beside me forever, mourning upon my loved one whom you did not even know, I would not, in some twisted and strange way, be doing the earth any favours".
"But I'd be doing you a favour", It said rather simply.
"But you do not grant favours, you only exchange them. And any way, I never asked for any company tonight, I was quite happy to be sat upon this heap alone. Thank you".
"It is only a dog you know...".
"I beg your pardon?".
"No... no, I didn't mean that either, I know it's a human. I apologise. That was uncalled for". The Voice began to wring it's hands again, referring it's glance to the mound and the stone. "I suppose we could carry on arguing though? For quite some time?".
"You really dislike your job, do you not?", the girl asked the Voice, pushing her feet comfortably into the disturbed earth.
"Yes. Quite.", Came the Voice.

~

Unedited.

''Something I cannot, can see me''.

An aged story.


Will I spend my life doing this?
Taking on the old information as if new?

I heard the trees anger last night,
As alll that filled the 4am streets was my own whisper,
Ordinarily.
The rest that filled the silence was suddenly all collapture.
To look above me,
My footsteps ended,
Paused, and slotted into the cobbles.

The damp road an empty stage to the rustling and the breaking above me,
I could almost trace the sound with my eyes,
It moved around as if some thing on all fours ran-a-mock on the tree tops,
Beneath the shielded moon.
I was a build up,
A tension.
And I waited for something to drop,
As I spied a star through the mess of leaves.

Some of autumn, some clinging onto what was left of the weather,
I waited.
Surely a branch would have stopped breaking?
But the sound of ripping bark and clattering leaves progressed,
An orchestra building up,
"Something I cannot, can see me".
Was tonight, my ordinary night, The night?
For all the shredding, the grinding rips,
Nothing fell on the floor.

But I waited, I even stepped into the dark from the lamp's light,
Directly beneath the sound, willing it to test me.
But perhaps I wanted it too much that night,
Or maybe I wasn't truly fearless,
They saw me unfit?
Still I pictured this creature on the tree tops, lining Queen's square,
All that was beneath, such ordinaire,
And are all above such hair tinted creatures?
Drooled and thirst?
I ached my neck back,
Realising the horizon was lightening, for it was apparent.
And all in such short time,
the climax came too little.

Little but what the creature had left,
That was swaying wood out of eye's sight,
And the fluttering leaves that rumbled humbly in disturbance,
As if attacked and reacted,
As a body would to a needle.

All but tonight.

Nothing saved me from my plight,
I was just another colour under midnight's light.

Wake me from this, I wondered,
Pondering on an ending,
Or not seeing beach light again.
As I left the cobbles closer,
I ran thoughts through a bitterly set mind.

Surely, if I cannot sleep as alive,
I shan't sleep when I am dead either?

Commited to a wander that is mood lead,
Waiting to be accepted into eternity?
See, I think they're watching.
I'm waited.
I'm watched.
But I'll go out in daylight today,
It hidden by grey cloud and musk.
And the goers by,
Suits, ties, and nine to five thirty,
Scurry as rats do to the sewers,
To the train stations, to the bus depos.
As I rest weary, moon streaked eyes,
And pace out around them.
A slower, more tuned walk than they, gushes by,
With worries of such,
That I once would have dreamt, yet dreaded having,
As a ten year old wishing amnesia upon my self.

And wishing for all the woes of an ordinaire.
Yet the moment I spend my ordinary walk home,
Claiming and comparing,
To be as ordinary as;
Those who eat ordinarily for a living,
Those who ignore the ache in their side,
Those who pine for those they cannot have,
Those who find those of a similar life,
A tree snaps before me.
And they wonder if I'm truly ready.
As do I.

The Young Rambler.

The creatures that lie in the beds here,
Are the ones that once donned my bedroom walls.
I need not fear the monsters here,
For I did reside before them,
My deepest fear equipped masculinity,
It was caped in woes older than me.
When my years begin to gather,
I have written and I have witnessed the matter.

Make this true, within this natter,
I have got these things inside of me.
Rest child's eyes, and lie in the cool of stone.
The damp and the dry,
The aching, the fingers that pry,
My window was never a safeguard,
My humming nervous system did flail.


Damned away from the sun,
The same old monsters run.
As a child, I knew they would come,
During enjoyment, they waited with heaving chest and narrowed claw.

Rotted teeth and gaps in gum,
The glorious creatures shadowed.
The earth from my garden wrapped around each thumb,
Each claw, each tear in ancient, leather skin.

Is it the quiet of night that doth draw the worry,
Aware, was I, that my skeleton led within me.
Had mere younger years seen but enough?
They lurched in their places, even inhaling they bring a dull hiss.

And could my childhood ears have perked,
I pictured them at the window,
Even knowing they lived within the walls.
Still do they crawl at my hair, do they whisper at innocence.

'Oh what on earth is even holding you together?!'
And hear I, only, the response;
'Oh what is it that puts the colour in your skin?'.

-
- Notes to this piece;
Even as I speak the light dims and flickers, as if riding on my pulse. When will these demons leave me? The bell rang only once as I spoke 'The monsters were always faceless in the barn of my childhood home'.

To be read quietly.

And I shall live now,
As I always intended upon living,
For I have taken fresh air,
Into lungs that had just fluttered out the old,
And threatened upon me something dire and unthought,
And as I sit now, chest once again peacefully heaving,
The crow caws at my back door.
And some where far, the sparrows hum.

Now it is I, who am able to read and speak,
To dance and walk,
To be and be with,
To be pleased and to please.
For life is able, and only as I make it.
For it I, who was standing in my way before,
And no other.

Give in now, to the passions that have stepped beside me,
And lead them. Lead them to the brushes, to the strokes,
Oh, of which I seek beauty in.
Find me, by sand and by pavement,
By cobble and by book,
To the scent of home,
And the trickle of tea.

I am to be me.
And finally, me.

~

Note to this - I just came over very queer, a couple of hours reading and suddenly air seemed to flutter into my heart, a tremble down my throat, my quivering lungs. I ran to take air from the breeze in the garden. Unlike any anxiety, for now I breathe clearly and my head pain is gone. So near to the next seven years, have I been reborn?
To be read quietly.

subtle.

No it isn't a week since any thing,
and i can't tie the wrist today,
and the cat on the back of my hand look just like misplaced veins.
And breath.
Second time round never happened for darlin',
he said 'Sugar, I should've came over'.
No one's ever good enough.
If you are still bones, then your hands are currently around my neck.

I tried to cut loose strands of hair, that hung out of line
but they wept sourly,
and the metal of the scissors began to ache in my hand.
Worse still,
the sun began to shoot rays through the bathroom window,
i felt my skin wretch as it thirstily drank down all that i had deprived it of,
since becoming one for the moon.
The hands on my neck loosened, but held
And my eyes suddenly shot a clearer view.
I delved the scissors into the mirror, and the strands leaped in fright,
I scraped my palm and fist across it's shattered surface,
and held my face to it's mirror's chest.
Somehow my eye's stayed open
And the mirror looked at my shattered self,
and judged upon words i had only yet thought.

God why did he come here,
i knew he was downstairs,
I heard his mug hit the table, i heard his keys scrape the counter.
Any more minutes, and he'd be at the door.
Any more hours, I'm sure he'd be demanding less.
At the kitchen table, my mug was too hot, but i clasped it with wide, subtle eyes.
At the door, the straps on my shoes just too tight
But he smiled at dull pain so much more than my fright.
So i turned to the window of the front door,
my reflection intact.
Marks on my skin, showed that of the bathroom,
before he could see what a mess I'd left on his tiles,
I whispered a few words, and left him a note.
Revealing to him,
That i should burn before choke.

I'm forgetting what days lead into which.
A blur of a memory reveals to me, that once i used days.
I used them to divide
and to remember how long had passed since when.
Now a week since special don't really cut it.
And now my eyes are closed for most of what they call 'days'
And my skin got so pale since no one came home.
I slumped against a curved seat on a bus, and the time passed me.
God i don't know how i got away with one thirty,
and such charming smiles of drinks i never tasted.

Darling won't spend the night outside
Bitter-larity made sense when stood as high as round the corner took us.
He said, 'tell you what, we'll get past three'.
I said we'll go as far as the sun coming up.
So warmth beneath a duvet and a matress without a sheet,
just that light from through the blinds,
and half drunk cups.
My eyelids never felt heavy, and i thought i could lie there all night
The last matress was covered and i cried to stop myself from sleeping beside him.

Can't they wait, til i get gone?
Leaving became such an easy thing when I subjected my bones to accepting the light of day.

Shadows turnt my eyes to such sweet things.
I couldnt' see.
And i needn't look at any imperfection here.
Oh great, another one full of words.
So i stopped in the cold, and watched the breath throw itself from me
And all i could see were stars and orange lights.
They lined the horizon and were divided by trees, and the irony had it that i preferred these divides to that of the days and so i stayed where i sat, and let him go on.
For his words would run dry soon,
i to be left alone again.
And wait upon the next sorry soul to sit himself beside me
and claim beneficial
A pathetic substances to the meat on my bones.
Only whispering in the dark could make me pursue
And perhaps a push from a good claw.
I sighed in the dew
and i dragged my face through night time's grass.
And he was just like all the others, his footprints in the mud.
So dampened down the grass, i couldn't spot the moon.
I think the other one stole it,
when he left before even words odd.
My sky was barely litten, so it glowed an orange pollute.
And my sincere eyes were tainted in thoughts of what i could do
Had i stronger arms and firmer fists.

By now of course, he was in some next girl's bathroom.
And i was on a train.
But never some where new these days.
My night times were such waste.

Just because his lips were full, and his bowtie wasn't scew.
I had to stop before i got old.
Before i told him my name.

Beauty ran into a diner, and drank halves of tall glasses.
Secondly it made it's stand, and thirdly shocked the nation
I wished, and pondered, upon particular key attributes to this
And noticed in my haste,
that beauty got on it's way again, before the day returned.
And so i said from there, or mimed
Let me be as such, in time and
wait for no one, judge less so. For he'd already bolted the door
Before the end of the garden path met my feet.