soyblobs
She asks sweetly like the little tiny drops of pure sugar I'd snatch from the candy store counter. And I can taste the light patches of dewy caramel sunshine as they glow out in my smiling response.
What is purity? She asks, looking up from the dark sludge of a river that they visit, the stench of rotting fish and perhaps some festering hope hogging what little clean air their lungs can hold.
I can no longer get up anymore to go comfort the distant wails. My heart is heavy. How can one be loving to a fear?
I see a blurry image ahead of me but I cannot tell if it is human or not. When I come closer it shimmers brightly and I still cannot tell. A step closer. More shimmering. More glittering. But when I am close to touching it, it shatters like glass into the wind.
I remember waking up in a golden splash like the mistake-masterpiece of a painter who spills paint upon the canvas. Warmth cascaded through billowing white drapes as we smiled in sleepy content among the tousled sheets.
She plays me like the shining white keys upon which her silvery tones roar with unexpected tenderness. Staccato black accents ring out in shrill, ringing beats, and I am left upon the doorstep yet again, the pedal holding her last notes in an ominous moan.
I despise the looks you give me when I walk down the stuffy halls of this constricted place. They are a predators' looks. I am not your prey. I will not be your prey in this God-forsaken place with its red light halls and blood-rusted doors.
writing since 2013 · 8 entries · 7 days shown up
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