I’m smoking another cigarette, listening to the neighbor‘s rake scratch the leaves into a pile. Down the street some kids are giggling, but in a kidly-sinister way. Maybe they found some left over forgotten about fireworks they plan to detonate. A car alarm blares faintly. Like it’s sorta given up, too.

I overhear a pair of friends chatting to themselves, joking and laughing. They sound so happy. I laugh with them because, in the moment, it makes me happy.

It doesn’t last long. My chest feels heavy after listening, like it was a chore. Exhausting for my small frame. Everything feels heavy when you’re light.

This smoke makes me cough and it makes me sick, but I don’t stop.

I‘d rather the hole be filled with smoke than lined with mirrors.

Would it matter to you, if I told you what I looked like?

Probably. You’d probably care a whole awful lot what I looked like. I don’t know if you know why you care, and even I can only make half-hearted guesses to the answer for that one.

But some part of you will want to know. Are they tall? Do they have nice eyes, silky hair? Will I like to look at them?

Maybe you’re just curious, after hearing my name. Put a picture to the words; in your head. And it’s a fair enough assumption. Humans are wonderers. Always wanting a connection.

Would it matter then, if I told you I wasn’t human? Probably. You’d probably care a whole awful lot that I wasn’t human.

But would you still wonder? Would you still want a connection?

You see, the thing is, humans like things. Things they can touch, things they can see, things they can consume. Greedily, but that’s not the point.

But I like time. Time to myself, time to reflect, time without consequence. Time is irreplaceable.

But don’t be sad, annwyl, don’t be sad. You have so much time! You have it all, really...

Time to grow old, time to make mistakes, learn and transform.

Time to love.

And if anyone should feel that sting of time rushing by, it’s me. I have so many things, and all I want is the moments you ignored.

You ignored them for so long, human.

And I see you staring at the words, desperately swallowing the sentences.

I can hear your heart reading them.

It will be fine.

You’ll know what I look like.

You can have all the things... I promise.

Just give me your time….

It will only hurt a little.

It was nice, wasn’t it?

Before

I became just another name

You got to hold on your tongue

Before

I became the one

You blamed, for it all.

It was nice, huh?

Before

I opened the door

For your needy hands

And greedy mouth

Before

You shut it on my face;

Like I could do nothing more.

For you

I needed more than most...

Before

It was sunshine and sleepy wants...

Before

I was a house

You promised you wouldn’t haunt;

My personal ghost.

Before…

I wish I didn’t know you before

I knew

Me…

And before I knew,

That ghost’s don’t leave.

Because I could not play for theatre,

it did kindly play for me.

I abhorred the fact that it,

sooner learned to play before I.

Gently it goes,

the poetical,

the rhetorical,

the nonliteral.

The grotesque.

How joyful are operatic performances...

Do they make you shiver?

do they?

I will consider my venue;

to get me wondering,

if pause to play,

was just as lovely

as an empty grave.

#prose #theater #pause #play

I've never been afraid of disaster,

nor folly, nor madness.

The spark that marks the Joker.

I'll cry tears of joy,

when there is no glee at all.

Just the nightlife of a thief.

Your death was not calculated.

It wasn't planned.

It wasn't fair.

But I am not the one

to designate,

to justify,

your personal right from wrong.

I am only here to steal.

The marble etched 

with the cold,

the neoteric,

letters of your name.

They tell me all I need to know; 

your arrival,

and your departure from this plane.

You are not lost yet, but give me time.

The earth is tenebrous and I'm scared.

That separated soil;

fresh with the tears of your father,

your mother,

your sister.

They laid a petal for each year they loved you.

Twelve.

I come out of hiding

when the sky is aphotic,

the streetlights sparkling.

When the cemetery is destitute and silent.

Your graveside is vibrant.

Your soul is quiet.

I dig.

My fingernails split and burn.

My hands make fast work of your soft dirt.

My pulse pounds.

My head aches.

My, my, my.

My, you were young...

and in a sense,

I am too.

But I am not,

the Peter Pan you thought you knew.

Your face is pale,

it's smooth,

it's still.

The laugh-lines are faint,

but still...I need you.

That animating principle.

That vivacity.

That soul.

I'm selfish in what I demand from you,

this I know.

From here, there is only one place to go.

Your skin is gelid and I feel the whimper,

the moan,

climb the back of my throat.

Your eyes open;

you stare.

I stare.

I see the panic rise behind your eyes,

and shush you before you dare.

With whispers sweet,

my voice a muted cadence,

I sing the words to take you with me,

along to your Neverland home.

"A dead sound shivers,

such a luminous heartache will end.

And all it takes,

is a little faith,

and a leap through time and space."

The hot water beats against your skin as you sigh, relaxing amidst the clouds of steam. 

The room smells of heat and lavender.

A thought slips across your mind;

"I should pull the shower curtain closed."

One eye peeks open through the shampoo suds, about to reach for the plastic.

A single skeletal hand, flesh taut and grey, nails like claws, grasps the fabric and slowly slides it shut. 

A few moments pass when you hear the hinge of the bathroom door squeak, the click of the lock resting in place. 

Then nothing else.

When the world around me changes, 

when the heart inside me ages, 

when I look around and all my hopes are bound and tied in cages, 

the magic in my mind, 

can reach through and find, 

a way to agree to love the me

that's wild, free and strange.

In my attempt to bring myself home, along the way I felt the loss. Grief shook me, and I wept. 

I cried for the same reasons I slept all day; unspent love. 

Love for you built and boiled through me while I shut out the world. 

Obnoxious amounts of unsent messages clutter my phone, forever saved in drafts I'll never send. Because who would I send them to?

The years of my life you consumed are not forgotten. On the contrary, they play like movies behind my eyes. 

I know no other way than to be dramatic about it all. To write again after so much time feels better and wrong. I should have been writing to you, about your feelings and your loss. And instead I typed the words you needed, then pressed delete every time. For that, I'm sorry.

What I feel now that you are gone is nothing to what you felt as you sat there alone and broken. Not even I saw just how broken. 

As I weep for myself, your family, and all of the lives you changed, I can't help but think I could have saved your life. 

Perhaps, if we meet again, I'll do better than this. I'll know what to say to keep you here.  

Maybe next time this silence won't be so loud. 

I fell in love with you,

and 

your body at sea.

You asked me why(?) I craved you,

I answered,

"Because you scare me."

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Î̵̮͉̞͚̍̐̐͟͟͡ n̨̮̱̻̹̝̺̣̈̇͛͗͢͞͡ȩ̵̦͖̘̓́͛̂̆̋̔͜e̛̙̯͚̹̰͚̣̖͒̓͊̿̑͐͘d̸̢̢̙͎̳̦̣͖̙̼̂̂̿̓̿́͌̏͌͒ y̢̺͓̻̠͌̏̾̊̾͟o̫̘͉̟̱̱̓̇̈́̈́̚͟ͅû̧͚̩̻̎̓͗͂͟ ẗ̸̢͍͉̰͚̥̥̳̃̾͆̇̈͝o̢̖̬͖͉̾̄̅̃̕ ķ̜̲̬͍͖͎̃͆͌̂̐̾́͞ͅͅn̴̡͙͓̰̪̮̎̄͂̋͊̈́͆̚͘͢o̷̩̟̟͓̘̫̝̍̀̌͆́̀̍̐̑̕ͅw̲̘̩͔̺̦̌̾͑͒͒͡ t̸̰̙͎̫̙̽͌͋̎̎̄̚͘͡͠h̸̯͇̯̻͈͕̉̄̓̓̀̈́̎̽͘͞i̵̡̠̬̻̘̽̍͂͐͂̑̏ş̸̪̞̲̬͇͓̤̮͈̓̉̎͐̌̓̚

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w̵̨̬̫͇̮͇̳͌̈́̅͋̅̈̂̊̕͟â̰̖̮͔̰̪̝̩͇̔̈͊̋̂͊̏͜͠s̵̮͕͔̟̙̯̥̱̆͗̎̀̇̋̅͒͜͜͡ ǫ̴̱̤̩͙͙̫̩͐̓̆̍̂̀͘͡ͅņ̛̭͎͚̜͉̩̰̆̌͊͐̈̅̎͝ļ̝̩̺̹̣͂̅̊̈́̍͢ͅͅy̸͎̞̜̜̣̤͉͙̬̐́̊̽̍͘͞͠

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t̢̥̣̆̏͒̾͋̎̋̇́͒͜͢e̬̯̲̠͍͐̾̇͒̀͛̉̈̐͢m͙̮̝͚̬̫̐̊̋͋̌̎͝͞p̟̪̪͉͎͕̈̉̂̈́͗̀̀͘͜ǫ̜͚̮̞͉͊̐͒́̎̿͟͠͞ṛ̵͕̗̦̗͌̌̏͆̍̇̔͑͡a̘̤̖̦͕͚̦͈̼͛̅̉͋̏̆͆̿͟͝r͙̘͕̳̝̒̇͊̋͞y̸̱̞̗̲͐̏̈́́͜͢͝͝͡ 

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