kannikaskye
when are you going to come sweep me off my feet?
i've been waiting for such a long time,
you know,
such a good little girl like i was told i would need to be.
i've been waiting
with bated breath and pacing feet and wandering mind
for you to come and find me.
so where are you?
my head desires a crown of wildflowers.
my heart desires a prince.
my eyes flicker over the room like a hummingbird over flowers. my room, naturally, is absolutely perfect. there are no clothes on the floor. there are no papers on my desk. there is not a speck of dust on the floor, no photos hanging sideways on the wall, nothing. it is neat and perfect and exactly how i usually like it.
but today it's horrible. it's all wrong. it makes me want to be somewhere, anywhere, where it actually looks like somebody lives. not here. this room is void of life.
it's like you've disappeared entirely, and this house is not a home anymore.
i don't understand. why does it have to be this way? why is it that one much always tell the truth, even when it feels like the truth is stabbing me in the back, twisting me around until i can't tell forwards from backwards? i don't like this rule about truth, because it means there is only absolutes. there is a right and there is a wrong. right is right and wrong is wrong but somehow we are in the middle and i don't know what to think anymore.
maybe i want to pretend. maybe i want to lie. maybe i want to tell everyone that you love me and i can't live without you and we will transcend time and be together forever.
what would you think of that?
can i lie?
The music sweeps me off my feet like a rushing ocean tide- powerful, oh so powerful, I couldn't hope to escape it if I tried- and sweeps me into the sky.
I am going backwards, so far back that I can't see the sun anymore, into a nameless dark where there used to be something- but it doesn't exist anymore. There is movement around me, smudges in the dark where it seems there might be people, images, glimpses of shapes and bodies, but I can't place it and I can't see it.
I want it, though. I want it so badly my throat burns but I can't put a word to it, this feeling that I can't describe except for as 'being'.
The music reaches a new high- driving bass; smooth melody; a lone, clear, trembling high note that sounds like crying- and my skin turns to ice and I place it, this swirl of emotions and bleeding of my heart and seeing all of these things but not really understanding.
It is life.
So this is what 'living' feels like.
Ready set go!
...
I have nothing.
Why won't something come?
Brain, work!
I command you!
Bring me brilliance
That would make Frost swoon
and bring Hemingway to his knees!
Come, come, come!
Why won't the words come?!!
...
Oh.
wait-
the leaves are dying.
i don't want them to leave, not truly-
they have been my friends.
when i held them in my hands,
when i spoke of dreams-
they listened.
they listened,
and i laughed and called myself crazy
but they told me i was just fine.
it wasn't crazy to believe in magic.
it was crazy to think things would never change.
it was crazy to think that they would never die.
so now i lie here
and cup their withering stems in my hands
and inhale of sweet spice and orange and sunlight
and they won't talk back to me.
their necks are snapped off at the vertebrae-
their lives are over.
i feel guilty for loving their corpses scattered over the ground
crisp and torn and all variations of blood-shades,
but sometimes when i lay in them
i can hear them still,
whispering of wicked winds and things to come
and how beautiful my eyes looked when i had hope.
i can hear their dying voices,
and it makes me feel alive
in a morbid but completely rational way.
it makes me think
i'm not alone.