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.

And so returns the night..

A slight and convincing novice, lie I at night,
With words so weak and a mind so active,
I give away little by sight.
And further my days, retreating inwardly,
Downward it feels, when it is only inside.
Little leaves this mouth that is truly felt,
And unhappiness is masked in irritance and terrible verse.
There should be marvellous rhyme,
There ought be fine and passionate spelling,
And yet leaks from I,
A simple salt solution of which my body is bitter and wrung.
And should we visit passion again,
Should I have a true calling,
Come ever, it’s voice, revealing it’s love for me,
Living in my breath and singing in my voice.
But no such passion has infected me,
No talent embedded in this flesh.
I am the novice that dulls the moment,
I am the weak voice at the end of a dark hall.
I am the expendable, the necessary character to move on to the next scene,
I have become little more a legend than a baby continuing to swim.
Such hope did old voices have in me,
Once I was so missed.
And now I flick at the cobwebs here, in my own dismal abyss.
As I say, however, it is not to be found around I,
But deep inside; it aches to be cleaned,
Are my fears engraved in here?
Do vile shades linger in wait?
I am placeless, and I am label-less,
I look like nothing in particular, and have about as much to contribute.
A pallor like any other,
And eyes that are eyes as they are.
Give in to sleep tonight, the unloved,
Lying by the one.
And attempt calm tonight, unloved,
Become the pain and diminish it.
I grow heavy in body, and mentally I strive to the melancholy still,
Where nothing moves on nor becomes tired nor changes,
I may be always this way.
But should it ruin it all, should it just,
That your irritated nature should dwell beside me,
And finally the wall has begun,
How hard I try still to warn.
You hear me so little through sleeping eyelids,
My nightly begging becomes prayer in slumber.
How beautiful you appear by the light of sleep,
And in this, this silence destroys me.

Collective Monstrosity.

Oh collectively!
Each sin, oh what we are,
Together beneath each sheet
This wretched, nasty being,
This monster between us,
I will be any thing with you.

How you push unto me,
And the blasted creature tickles a claw against my stomach, it lurches into my breast and it breaths so terribly heavy.
It won't let me to you!

How I want to give in,
Oh banish this as a sin!

Whilst this sinful thing within,
For I am truly, I am,
Wanting,
and in my young skin I should be able!
Blasted creature!
Leave me to my one,
For he, and he is mine and only: he;
He gives in.

Is able.
Such pathetic pen this is that scrawls.
It yearns to better its words, to practise it's give,
And like me to he,
It gives only what the creature between does filter.

It's scream will be audible to me only, the night it is torn from my skin,
wrenched from it's ever-home!
"Die Monster Die!"
Crawl, will it, up the spine to the base of the skull,
Will it linger at my neck, breathe into my ear,
Such is the snarl,
You nuture the other.

Can I possibly ink this thing whilst I am with he?
Can these tangle of words distract it long enough so that I might just be?!
Please, just a moment without one of these creatures to lure it's foul head!
Banish it from my bed!

There are always monsters behind the curtains.

~

Let us cherish our sin,
Even, has the creature forbade me from use of it's words.
But still it does whisper.
You are italics on parchment, my love,
You are the rose blooming over the once dull, routine wall that I pass on my journey.
You knelt in black, did my heart ever wilt.
Those eyes so sadly framed.
Let the monster rest for this caress.

'A true sehnsucht...'

I long for beauty like this,
Oh, you, in a dull morning light.
It is the curve, the cure to irritation,
My skin crawling and the winter breeze tingling;
Tease, it does, at the bottom of my bed.
I've seen so little like this before,
And I have heard every word in a different order,
Each letter the wrong way round, each day glanced through frosted glass,
You are the clearing,
You are the centre of the field on a white day of fog.
I honestly don't mind where I end up,
The dregs of want from the past are ebbing away,
Lingering in unconscious but laughing at me no more.
And why should I sleep?
They are here, and within,
And mostly, you are only here. For you, the thing you are, leaves me in the unconscious,
You frighten and astound!
And so charming you are,
When you are grinning in malicious spirit.
How beautiful the face without expression when I wrench open my eyes,
When breath fails me for seconds,
And you sigh in your sleep.

I find there is no back,
No other side to a wall.
In arms, in embrace, I need not air, I need not object,
And yet we cannot delay reality's presence.
That pathetic entrance of Summers weak sun.
It bleeds into my room such as the night did end,
It drapes across the teased image of you,
And it stirs the lid of your eye,
The trembling skin of disturbance.

Quickly, do the words scrawl the walls,
Severed, you crawl from my sheets.
Motionless, how on earth do I part for my day?
How do-able it all is!
How ill that makes me!
Easily I may take each day, I may slip into each situation,
Without you.
So much sweeter, with an air of atmospheric treasury could it be,
With you,
The sky the gold it goes, when the rain has fallen, and the Summer night sun weakly bleeds in,
Again against the thick of smoke clouds.
A fire has fallen,
Here I gain,
And here you have given your hand.

''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.

If rain.

Delightful it is!; To sit beside a window cracked,
And letting in air as cool as is held in the crypt!
Rain does thud at my glass today,
And grey has coloured the dull blue that was.
Autumn feels closer than the month would suggest,
And a book of age lies at my chest.

To sit is absolute, and to listen to nothing but!
I have the calm and the serene today,
Of a lady who, once, knew precisely what she wanted,
Of a cat who hauled in the birds beside the mice!

I question my dreams today, I ask them why they haunt me so?
I may have taken a restful gaze toward a window dotted,
But the lingering images behind these eyes are of creatures, unsettling.
Yes, just last night I gave in to sleep,
And slept for as long as I might ever,
Until. And then dream did come. Did taunt!
It lay out fears my mind had only just come across,
And oh how well it did!

If my mind would write, quite the story you would read.
It put poison in my drink! It led him by another! It threatened at solitude of an outing,
It may as well have put fire in my sky!
I am distrustful of my mind in sleep!
Here, here I lay in a comfort I have made,
And it laughs, it gives a foul hissing laugh, as I fall empty into unconsciousness.

The sweet rain pounds harder now, it sweetens the horizon,
And my mind is withdrawing the memory,
I pry so that I may word the fears and paint the creature;
Yet it pulls back as slowly and effortlessly as the tide receeding.
My mind but sand, my fingers protruding with difficulty, clutching as if suffocating.
Only to dream again.

~

Murk has my mind been,
And just of late has it swum back with the tide.
I am aware, if at all, that such as the shadow through a window,
Of rain upon a familiar portrait, in a dark and deep, elaborate room,
Forgotten and anachronistic,
Love does begin to patter at perfection.