tough words slay across the floor, ricocheted against the hard wood
and onto my face, rough syllables slice through my cheek, soak the ground with warm blood, cold veins take over frozen mind, hands shiver, step back, don’t come closer,
I can’t stand you, you mouth to me your better off, staying on the ground teeth clench, fingers into a fist I’m better off without you red anger under black holes, that were once my eyes, the curtain is closed don’t come near sharp teeth stare at me under a dammed smile, you should stay in hell, where you belong, comes closer throws darkened words,
they slip right out of his mouth, black ink against my skin, hand grabs, hand takes,
a dent in my waist, pressured with your hold, those fingertips that are like heated iron
I don’t need you in my life backs away, but the closeness is too deep, like handcuffs embroidered under my soul, bruises that whisper you should have never come
I made a mistake, I said yes, when I should have said none.
through the looking glass
My finger slides against the cool, smooth glass. I stare at the reflection surrounded by the faint light of street lights outside. My eyes gaze at the ones copied in the mirror. I try not to blink when I stare at them. Those bright blue crystals, that follow my every move. I press my hand to the glass. She does the same. The touch chills my skin and lends in my hollow bones. I open my lips but don’t make a sound. It pains me to see her like that. Filled with sadness and deflated, quieter with each passing day. My lips form into a weak smile. She tries to mimic the expression but fails. It pains her to pretend, even if she does it so well - on most days. Yet with me, she can’t and she knows it. My fingers shift as if I want to touch her face and cup her cheek. I care for her deeply. Even if I constantly let her down... yet I also know that she tries, that she fights. Maybe she’s not best at it, maybe she should have done a lot of things differently... but she tries, she really does, she tries to give her best to people. Despite all of her flaws_ her cracks_ her damaged parts. My lips finally find their voice.
Please don’t be sad, it breaks my heart to see you like that.
She doesn’t answer, just mimics my every move. She doesn’t know how to do this life on her own. She just repeats, in fear that someone will notice_ and in hope that someone actually will.
The clock struck midnight and here I am again, a different hotel, a different room. The same smell of the sheets and me under you. In the dark, with the company of four walls around us and the street lamps slipping through. Hushed breaths as you sleep by my side. I move away and sit up. Knees to my chin, arms wrapped around weak legs. I grab a lighter from the nightstand and play with it. I think. I sigh. I watch the sparks and wonder how it would be to burn like that. I wonder if it would keep me warm. I wish the time would stop for me. For this one moment - but it doesn’t. Tomorrow night, midnight will pass just the same... a different hotel, a different room. But no longer me under you. Someone else will take your place and fill the void. I take a cigarette and light it up. I touch your skin and glide my fingers gently against your bare arm. Maybe there will come a day when I can keep you for more than just one night.
The clock struck three, so I took my clothes and left, the smell of smoke lingered in the room as I left you sleeping, alone and without me.
Shallow (A Star Is Born) ...just wanted to add this
Walks slowly, step by step, without rush but with plenty of fear, tears drop down her face, she touches every tree that she passes on her way, it’s a sunny day, just a few clouds in the sky, she takes off her jewelry, heavy rings, and chunky bracelets, one by one, they fall on the dirt, on the grass, unnecessary things, without meaning. She takes off her sunglasses, the sun blinds her, or maybe it’s the tears, her mascara runs down with her pain, she walks, she stumbles, she can smell the water now, she slips out of her shirt, she walks, step by step, foot by foot, she falls. The ground is hard, sharp edges scrape her knees. She gets up, slowly first shoe drops and then the other. Her mind made up, bare feet against the narrow path, light filtering through the leaves. Merciful day on a lost soul. She moves quicker now, she stumbles again, yet she keeps on moving, step by step, foot by foot... she stops. Before her, the water, that lake. Slow steps. Decisions. Make your decisions, girl. Make them now. Sharp rocks scrape her skin, and the water’s deep. She walks in, she sinks in it. Slowly. She floats. She cries. Looks before her and then back. Turns inch by inch and remembers the shore. How it looks and what it brings. Too cold are her bones, too shallow the pulse. Blood does not run, it drags against her dark veins. It’s not right. This is not the way that it should be. She lets the water wash over her body and her sins. She steps out... step by step, foot by foot. Not, yet. Not today. Make your decisions, girl. Make them now.
I expected bruises and I got them. Nothing new. The deep purple and intense green spreading across my skin. I was used to it by now. To the stains on my body, to the pain in my muscles. Just another day with him, another passing moment of our relationship. Our life together. Of our love as he called it.
Sweetheart, I told you not to anger me. Don’t you know how much I love you? Why would you disappoint me like that?
I didn’t have an answer to that. I just wanted his love. The way it was once. The time when his hand wouldn’t lift so high. Before him hitting me, wasn’t the only sound that I heard. The only music of my day... I stare at him and try not to move. I cross my arms so they don’t shake. So he doesn’t smell my fear.
He likes it too much, it gets him all riled up.
I asked you a question. Do you want me to repeat?
He pushes me to the bed and I fall. I don’t put up a fight. I don’t complain.
That would only encourage him. He enjoyed a challenge. This little game of the cat and the mouse. I watch him as he comes to me slowly. Step by step. One short breath after another. I look down at my bare legs. I look at the stains that have already turned yellow. I think that I am going to get new ones. I think that I will need to hide it better under thicker stockings. He didn’t like when people noticed. I cover my face and wait.
He comes closer and strokes my face with the tips of his fingers. Gently. Slowly. With attention. I wait. I am not fooled. His hand lifts. A slap. One time, two, three, four, five, six, seven... I move my tongue to feel the inside of my mouth. The taste of fresh blood fills me. It tastes like metal. Like home. Like my prison.
Baby, don’t disappoint me again.
He lifts me up by my throat and lifts me up in the air. My toes dangle in the air. I try to catch my breath. I groan. Yet I am not scared. This isn’t the first time and he loves me.
He would never really hurt me. My fingers slide against his hands, lightly, like a caress. I run out of air. My vision gets blurry. I count. One, two, three, four... the grip loosens up.
I fall to the floor.
See what you made me do? You won’t do it again? Will you sweetheart?
I clear my throat but nothing comes out. I gasp for more air. I can’t say anything so I just shake my head. It’s enough for him. He touches my ankle and moves it up to my thigh. I try not to flinch. He pats my torn skirt and smiles softly. He gets up and walks to the door.
That’s a good girl. You make me so happy.
He walks out. He locks the door. I hear him take out the key. I look at the mess around me. I was making dinner before. I forgot to throw the garbage away. I lay on the bed and wrap my arms around my body. I won’t disappoint him tomorrow.
insanity tastes like liquor... or so they tell me in the night
but others say it just tastes like the last bitter kiss of a lover scorned
and there is something to it... I felt that before
just a lot of madness after that last drop of bitter water
mixed with swollen lips and a guilty conscience
Does this drive you crazy?
The nagging words in your head
or the smoldering ideas that run under that hammering skull?
That dirty mind of yours... I thought you had it cured?
I thought so too, but then I started to enjoy all the dark places that it took me
Try some pills... my imagination takes me further
Ever tried reality? over and over again, got me into a lot of trouble
the law doesn’t agree on my current state... but makes no difference
because the doctors stamped the yellow papers... the pink pills taste bitter too
the burning water does me more good
What did you ask before? What is insanity to me?
insanity is the madness in my eyes
perfectly reflected in yours, when you ask me
Pass me the glass, love... I will fill it up for you, you look thirsty.
Slowly now, but with strength
Marinette walked to her garden to make amends. She stepped on the cold ground with bare feet. She moved her legs on the grass. She walked to the roses and cut off the thorns, so she would no longer feel the pain. She pulled the lilies from the ground so she could no longer go to the cemetery that was her heart. She walked to the daises and removed the petals, so she could no longer count on the love that let her down.
Finally, she took an axe and cut down the apple tree that occupied her garden. She threw away the naked branches and chopped this tree into small pieces, to match the number of misplaced pieces in her soul. She took the wood into her home and started a fire.
Putting the fragments of her into a fireplace. She arranged everything and lighted a match. She watched the flames blaze and started to breathe. Staring at the memories that dragged her down, turn into ash. And as the smoke lifted to the chimney and floated to the sky, she let it fly high and reach the dark clouds that took permanent residence in her mind. She stared at that smoke that would clear her soul, body, heart, and mind.
She waited for the rain to erase the bad in her life. And as the first drops felt down from the sky above, banging on the roof, she felt her chest rise and fall. Her heart once again beating in rhythm. And through the glass she stared, marveling at the night sky. Watching the clouds clear, and at last noticing the moon. Its light glow showing her the way, guiding her to someone she once was. No longer stuck in the dark and cold. But with moonbeams on her skin and light in her fibers.
Strong enough to start the healing process. To begin anew.
One day at a time, until she was human again.
City lights dance across the dashboard as he drives back, eyes tired, stare blurry. It’s been a long day and he can’t wait to get home. Even if the apartment is empty and there is no one to great him there. Let’s face it, even the houseplants decided to give up on him. He drives as the rain outside increases, the city lights mirrored in the puddles, almost glowing like Christmas decorations. All that fake joyfulness without the real thing. He speeds up, trying to get back faster, the frustrations of the growing day hitting him with double force. Work has been hell lately, his responsibilities piling up just like the stack of documents on his desk. He changes the gears when the lights turn to green.
He rushes, and then he sees her.
One big mess, in a long dirty green jacket, hood on, a hand holding it against the lashing wind. She tries to shield herself, but it is clear that she is drenched in water and mud. He passes her without even a second thought, as the car splashes water all over her like a big tidal wave. Her small frame shrinks as the cold water attacks her body. He stares at the scene as she becomes smaller and smaller in the side mirror.
He changes the gear and stops abruptly, the brakes making a racket. He almost hits a nearby pole as he tries to make it in one piece. A deep breath, in and out. A rushing heartbeat against the wall of rain. He backs the car and stops next to her. He doesn’t even say anything, just opens the door and waits until she gets in. She doesn’t even hesitate. Her small figure sliding right in. He notices the mud on her shoes but doesn’t say anything. All he has in his head, are his mother’s words.
One good deed at a day, John. One good deed at a time.
You’re a critical dream, baby - she told me.
There was something about those words that really crushed me. They seemed to reach deep under my skin and pierce my insides. A critical dream. I whisper those two words, tasting their bitter flavor. I roll them on my tongue and then I just watch as they leave me. Floating out into the freezing air. My lips part for another short moment, and then stretch into a sharp smile. I come closer to her and hold a strand of her soft hair. She doesn’t respond in any way, just stares at me with those big hazel eyes.
Don’t you mean a critical mistake? - I ask.
No, and you know why?
I look at her, my smile turning into that of a blade. Sharper with every second. My fingers slowly trace the line of her jaw, her neck. I let my fingers sink in her skin for longer than they should. I put pressure on the touch and wonder if the dent will turn into a bruise. I sigh, and then I let my hand fall. My fingers leave her skin and roll into a fist. I step away.
No, why? - I ask, trying to quiet my rushing pulse.
Because mistakes can be fixed, you can’t.
I stare at her. My eyes turn cold. Something disappears from my movements, a sort of mannerism that I was playing with before. I take off the mask that I so carefully put on before. My voice is calm when I speak, as if answering a question that she didn’t ask.
Because I already fixed your mistakes and problems. And now, you don’t have the patience for mine.
Essentially. I have put myself back to a state I can function and take joy from the system. And you, M? How about you?
She asks as if challenging me.
I am a fixer, Clare. I do what I have to do and I am left with none.
No. I have the basics to keep me going. I get by.
I stare at her and wonder about the words that she spoke with so much confidence.
Why did you call me like that? Why?
Because that’s what you are, M... a critical dream that lights up for others, you catch them with the allure of unreached dreams. You are critical for them. You build them up.
I stop listening to her and walk slowly through the snowy path, my heels loud against the crunchy surface - and sit on a bench. I cross my legs and gaze at the bright winter afternoon.
I guess you’re right. You, my beautiful error.
I can feel her eyes on me, and I hear her words as her warm breath tickles my ear. My pulse rises but I don’t move.
I was always that, but I guess you forgot.
Yes, that I did. But in the end, critical dreams don’t really exist, don’t they?
No, and neither do the errors.
She sits next to me and puts a hand on my thigh. Her fingers are cold as they trace circles against my skin. Just like they used to once before. When the touch made a difference. Now, there is just this sense of numbness, even if some part of me acts on instinct and wants more. I look up again, staring at the winter sun and put my fingers on hers.
Neither of us did really exist in this dimension - me or her, but we still crossed our paths once in a blue moon... or once in a pale, winter sun.
She takes small steps, her legs leading her to the beach, a fragile figure, barely visible against a raging storm. Dark clouds covering the sky, cold drops falling on pale cheeks. Her breaths are uneven and shallow as she stumbles forward, bare feet sinking in the sand. She’s dressed in a black, heavy coat. Sharp gusts of wind opening it with every blow, a thin hospital gown the only thing she has underneath. She holds it tightly, her fingers almost white against the dark woolen material. It wasn’t even hers. They hid all of her clothes because she didn’t need them. Hospital clothes and her covers were all she had. After all, she wasn’t going anywhere. It was too late for that.
Slowly moving forward, a few more unsure steps, just to get closer to the ocean. Just a bit closer. She wants to perceive it, inhale it with her entire being. Just the smell of the salty waters, tiny particles of iodine from the seaweed promising to make her feel better; and not just the constant odor of sickness and medicine. It was just too late. She knew that for a long time now, even if her family tried to convince her otherwise. “There is always hope Anne, they are going to find a donor for you. I know they will. You just have to be patient, child” The same empty words not really giving her any hope to hold on to. These days were numbered, she just wasn’t sure how many she still got left. Two, four days? A week, or a month? Maybe more, maybe less? She didn’t know. Twenty-two years wasn’t such a bad score.
Gazing at the water, she makes an attempt to move. One step, two, three, four... That’s the moment when her legs buckle under her, deciding that this will be all that she gets. Anne’s weakened body falls to the ground and lays on the wet sand. Her breathing more shallow than before. She wants to spit out her lungs so there will be no more pain. She wants to open her chest and rip out the heart, that hasn’t been working for the past year. She scratches her throat as if she were looking for hidden air. For a moment her face lands in the sand too, she can hardly breathe in this position, but it brings her a strange almost masochistic pleasure to feel like that; as if she still had some faint control over her life, as if she could end this. Here and now... She growls into the ground and makes herself lift a bit. She spits the sand out of her mouth and coughs for what seems like forever. Her body lifts even more and she sits up on her knees.
The breathing slows down and the last coughs stop. Tears running down her face. She inhales and finally feels the breeze on her face and the ocean in tired lungs. Eyes focused on the waves crashing with force and the storm coming closer. Maybe it will take her with it. Breathe in, breathe out - light lips lifting slightly. She has made it hear, reaching her goal; a little dream that she could still make happen on her own. This sickness has taken so much. Eyes closed, she lets the simple sounds of the ocean fill her up, but other words break through too. Atrial fibrillation. Type: Permanent. She tries to block the too known words but they keep hitting her. Heart abnormality from birth, treated too late. She clenches her eyelids tighter. Right-side heart failure. Recurring and badly treated health issues. “Your immune system is that of an infant, we will use medication to improve...” She finally blocks it and just listens to the tides rise anbd fall.
With eyes open again, she pulls the coat tighter around a slim figure. I couldn’t find any shoes, the slippers fell off in the sand. She gazes at the water as the same thought bounces in her mind. This isn’t my coat. She can hardly feel her fingers as her eyelids begin to get heavy. I’m so tired all the time, I just need to sleep. Her head feels dizzy, and her breaths become shorter with every passing minute. Maybe today is the day. She makes herself look at the world, still feeling the wind in her hair and the fading rain on her cheeks. Her hand goes to her chest once more, barely hearing her mistaken heartbeats. There is a pull somewhere inside her and she groans, her vision blurry. She collapses into the sand. And as she drifts into unconsciousness she can sense cold hands wrapping around her and picking her up.
“There you are, once again running away”.
A man in his mid-thirties holds her tighter and starts to walk back to the building. This wasn’t the first time that she has disappeared, but she never managed to get that far. She had a strong spirit but this couldn’t be stable for her health. At least there was some good news, the situation has changed.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QXwPUYU8rTI Birdy "shelter"