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."

.

Î̵̮͉̞͚̍̐̐͟͟͡ n̨̮̱̻̹̝̺̣̈̇͛͗͢͞͡ȩ̵̦͖̘̓́͛̂̆̋̔͜e̛̙̯͚̹̰͚̣̖͒̓͊̿̑͐͘d̸̢̢̙͎̳̦̣͖̙̼̂̂̿̓̿́͌̏͌͒ y̢̺͓̻̠͌̏̾̊̾͟o̫̘͉̟̱̱̓̇̈́̈́̚͟ͅû̧͚̩̻̎̓͗͂͟ ẗ̸̢͍͉̰͚̥̥̳̃̾͆̇̈͝o̢̖̬͖͉̾̄̅̃̕ ķ̜̲̬͍͖͎̃͆͌̂̐̾́͞ͅͅn̴̡͙͓̰̪̮̎̄͂̋͊̈́͆̚͘͢o̷̩̟̟͓̘̫̝̍̀̌͆́̀̍̐̑̕ͅw̲̘̩͔̺̦̌̾͑͒͒͡ t̸̰̙͎̫̙̽͌͋̎̎̄̚͘͡͠h̸̯͇̯̻͈͕̉̄̓̓̀̈́̎̽͘͞i̵̡̠̬̻̘̽̍͂͐͂̑̏ş̸̪̞̲̬͇͓̤̮͈̓̉̎͐̌̓̚

.

w̵̨̬̫͇̮͇̳͌̈́̅͋̅̈̂̊̕͟â̰̖̮͔̰̪̝̩͇̔̈͊̋̂͊̏͜͠s̵̮͕͔̟̙̯̥̱̆͗̎̀̇̋̅͒͜͜͡ ǫ̴̱̤̩͙͙̫̩͐̓̆̍̂̀͘͡ͅņ̛̭͎͚̜͉̩̰̆̌͊͐̈̅̎͝ļ̝̩̺̹̣͂̅̊̈́̍͢ͅͅy̸͎̞̜̜̣̤͉͙̬̐́̊̽̍͘͞͠

.

.

.

t̢̥̣̆̏͒̾͋̎̋̇́͒͜͢e̬̯̲̠͍͐̾̇͒̀͛̉̈̐͢m͙̮̝͚̬̫̐̊̋͋̌̎͝͞p̟̪̪͉͎͕̈̉̂̈́͗̀̀͘͜ǫ̜͚̮̞͉͊̐͒́̎̿͟͠͞ṛ̵͕̗̦̗͌̌̏͆̍̇̔͑͡a̘̤̖̦͕͚̦͈̼͛̅̉͋̏̆͆̿͟͝r͙̘͕̳̝̒̇͊̋͞y̸̱̞̗̲͐̏̈́́͜͢͝͝͡ 

.

.

There's magic in a sense of longing. 

When you take away the magic, you take away the capacity to love.

Mad for the stars 

that blow out your eyes 

in rapture of her novelty.

I resigned to teach myself a pragmatic end,

and learn to love to hate you.

Thereupon I wondered, what would be a better death?

To glimpse your face, sadly aghast, as you slowly slip away?

Or watch me slaughter, blade to bone, and the days I felt at all? 

I feared your inferno masked in subtle charm,

but those blazing nights are through. 

I took your broken nerve-gas bottle, the one you labeled "Love"

A tube you used for grown-up play-dates, 

and a cuspated needle new.

In that instant, delirium I feared, would take me all the way.

But instead I found that your muffled sounds,

helped me find,

the vein to end it all.

Chase me down a flight of stairs,

haunt me in the hall.

Carry me across your grave,

and press me to the wall.

Love me in your silent way,

jolt me with your touch,

Kiss me cold, you troubled soul,

and love me just as such.

I'm losing track of time, and these Irish waters bare their fangs while they spit in my face. I smell the salt in it's breath as it wails it's rage against my very presence. The deafening howls twirl my hair, and my skin is drenched, shining in the moon's light. 

Nature herself knows this is unnatural. She fights me. She needs me to leave, but I have nowhere else to go. Her rage is potent still, as if this transgression was solely my own. 

I'm sedentary in the sand, clutching at handfuls, but I can't catch hold. My head is pounding with the force of holding back mournful sobs, and even as a traitorous tear slips past, I don't feel it fall. 

In the distance the waters are restless. The feeling is mutual. Their deep indigo breaks own so many secrets; most of them my last moments. I can't remember how long it has been, but splinters of the wreckage are still lying along the shore. 

I haven't found the courage to see it up close. Not yet. 

My heart is lying somewhere in between sorrow and relief. Sorrow for what I have lost. Relief that the pain has ended. 

The crash was spectacular in the most horrific way. It was suppose to be fun and adventurous. My little girl and I, out on the open waters, a trained guide speeding us along the ocean's surface in a metal machine designed to go fast. We were laughing. Laughing so loud I almost didn't hear the hollow metallic sound of gears breaking beneath us. 

Laughing one moment, screaming the next. It was suppose to fun. 

Instead, I'm haunting this beach. I'm alone, and that should make me feel placated.

She made it then, right? 

My baby. 

I force my way over to what was left of the speed boat. Seeing footprints in the sand drove so much pressure into my chest I thought I'd explode. 

I was running. Just follow them...follow them. 

Flecks of red dappled the ground, and I felt so alive. I'm sure I couldn't possibly be flushed, but my face felt hot. Stagger-running up a grassy embankment, I could see flashing lights flickering against the black sky. Ambulance. This was it. I fell to my knees and crawled to the crowded parking lot. 

Men in dark blue uniforms waving flashlights. Women in firefighter jackets holding blankets and notepads. So many people, and no one I recognized. Except one. 

My little girl. 

There she sat, huddled under the arm of a man I didn't bother to look at. She was cold. She was scared. Her sweet face red and puffy. I ached to kiss the tiny scratch across her upper lip. I just wanted to make it all go away. 

"Everything will be alright, love. I'm here now." 

That voice...

Deep. Dreamy. I missed it. Spending months lying awake needing to hear it again. 

My daughter's father. He had been gone for so long. Hearing his sonorous tones, I was immediately reminded of all the nights my girl would stay up, asking where her daddy was. He was a good guy, and a marvelous father. I had been the one to push him away. My lies, my cheating. 

My drink.

It was too much for him. I drove him to leave, and hurt my angel in the process. 

I glanced over my shoulder to the beach below. The waters were calm now. Inviting. 

A hiccup and a cry brought me back to her shivering body. His arms held her tight, and I knew they wouldn't let her go again. 

I don't know if I smiled, but my baby did. It was a sad smile, but it was for her daddy. 

I turned to make my way towards the ocean, passing by a gurney carrying a white body bag, tufts of my red hair peeking out from under the zipper.