Coming up for air

All hypothetical disenchantment
How many slaps on the wrist till I get it?
Shaking with my allergic reaction to loneliness.
Call the birds down that circle above.
Peck out the disappointment and the idealistic out of this eye.
Leave to die, locked in a room where the skeletons chatter.
Locked out of heaven with the world before us.
Suddenly I’m turned down to darkness.
The dull flame that burns, struggles in the void.
Come home.
Race back and pull the car from the lake.
Only the headlights glow now under water.
The only sounds you hear are lakey tears.
Silent, in the watery body that covers me.

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White/Blue – Underneath

The Gentleman of the boxes

Though the perpetual snow covered everyone and everything in a magical flurry, some homes escaped the gingerbread icing of the winter dusting. Though treacherous at times, the snow that fell in the area of Ravensbrook was mostly welcomed. The small village itself was well known for its snow festivals which would be held often during the year. While the borders of the county were at the whim of the regular weather patterns, Ravensbrook enjoyed the snowfall of the mountain passes more than the tropics of the equator. But not everyone was happy with the snow, and one in particular made sure to be out of it as much as they could.

He had once had a large cabin on the other side of the woods which backed on to the small cottage by the stream. His was a stern roughly built cabin, reeking of ash fires and masculinity. It’s coarsely built structure was a testament of his own strength, having built the place himself. But it did not appeal to the eye, and was poorly landscaped. Fresh animal kills were strewn around, the bones of which would be stacked sometimes by an outhouses.  He lived there alone, stuffing small woodland animals with sawdust and brooding over a life that was slipping away from him. That is to say, lived there, for now the gentlemen of the boxes lived underground.

One day, on a particularly snowy afternoon whilst trudging back to his cabin, he’d stopped with his fresh kill slung over his shoulders. The snow had covered his face and was blotting out the view of the track he was following home. He’d stood there, a human snowman for much longer than an idle man should in the cold snow, thinking and pondering and wondering over the incessant weather. Raising his fist in the air, he cursed the sky and the lady who lived in that small little cottage; telling tales and playing god.

He stormed home, and packed the few possession he could into a duffle bag and set off into the depths of the woods. Thick in thorns and thistles, the snow drifts piled high in the dark and gloomy woodland. But soon enough, he’d found what he was looking for. A small opening in the ground marked by two huge boulders which led down underneath the earth. He’d found this long ago, chasing a fox that had sought shelter from his murderous hands. The opening expanded deep underground, a vast cave backed up with many little recesses built into the earth. Here he intended to live, and be away from that infernal snow and cold which stung his bones.

Over time, his little cave house filled with things and skeletons. The shells of the creatures that he didn’t keep in his boxes. He would stuff them with sawdust and set them into little boxes and crates, depending on the size. He would mark them all and catalogue what he had. In his noahistic mind, he would covert two of each creature, stripping one of the fleshy outtings where he could peak at the ivory bones underneath, and stuff and box the other. His collection grew in time, and much of his cave was taken over by the boxes that he would stack high to the ceiling.

One day, when he was in town selling some animal meet, he happened to notice the traveling cart man who’d stopped in the small village square. The man would peddle, in all weathers, around the villages with a huge caravan of objects pushed and slotted onto the back of his trailer. This travelling circus of curiosities was much welcomed where it went, for he was always known to bring treasures and wonders to their little part of the world. The gentlemen of the boxes never usually bothered himself with that sort of thing, but something that day seemed to call to him, picking at his mind and heart. He’d trundled over to the cart, impossibly piled high that day with brass lamps, copper kettles, crystal glasses and books. One book in particular stood out to him, a purple bound one the size of a bible. He slid it out from between a jewellery box and iron fire grate and looked at the cover.

The image on the front was nothing new to him, he’d seen the real thing a hundred times, but the way it was drawn unsettled something inside him. Dislodging some idleness and bringing forth some action. The skull of a creature, that of a deer, stared back at him. The eye sockets glowing with a purple-ish flame tickled the hairs on the back of his neck. He’d just begun to open the book when the seller called over him.

“Ah, I see you’re interested in the Lunamaji.” He came around the side of the cart and up to the man.

“Maybe. How much for the book?” He replied, gruffly.

“Ten Quartz to you good sir, anyone interested in such deep allurement deserves to get a good price.” The man held out his hand as some small glass coins tumbled into them. The gentlemen of the boxes huffed, thinking it was still too much for a book. But then, it held something he couldn’t explain, some pull or hold on him somehow. He had to have it, so he paid the small price. As he turned to walk away, the old man grabbed at his arm suddenly.

“Be warned though, this is not for the faint of heart or weak of conscience. There are many things in there that need to remain within those pages, and just to reside in the mind.” He’d said, hastening a smile to take the edge off his warning.

“Nothing about me has ever been weak.” The man replied, and stormed off with the book under his arm.


Push

He’d consumed the book. Reading it hurriedly in the candlelight of his cave. He’d read it once through and went straight back to the beginning to read it again. Days passed and he’d not emerged from his cave, breaking his concentration only to hydrate and use the bathroom. The words and the knowledge mesmerised him. He’d never been one for books before. He thought stories and fables were just things to tell children before they went to bed. He’d seen the kids from the village, hurrying to that little house by the stream to sit and listen to tales and wonders. Foolish kids. They should be out working, doing, playing, being. Not stuck inside listen to yarns that only take place in the mind.

But this book was different. This book showed him a way to be that was not fiction. These things he was reading told him how he could change his life for the better. How he could master the weather himself, make the wind blow the direction he wanted it to. To even stop death, and bring the things he wanted back to life.

But there was a cost to be paid, like there always was.

He was smart enough to know a warning when he saw it, and the book was riddled with them. And he wasn’t foolish enough not to heed this warnings either. He practised in secret, squirreled away underground. Little things at first, then moving on to larger and more completed things. He left his body many times, if not his cave, and before long he was very knowledgeable about the ways of Lunamaji and where it all could take him. But the power that he craved at first, shifted and changed. At first he’d wanted to see if the magic worked, to see if reading something could arouse a change in the very set up of the earth. To play god himself. But he soon learned, much to the cart seller’s warning, that it could consume and cause havoc. He didn’t want that. He wasn’t an evil soul, merely bitter by the hand life had dealt him. He changed his mind, as so many do, and instead sought out the one thing he knew the book could help him with. Aside from stopping the damn snow.

And that one thing had fallen from the sky that very morning.

To be continued…

 

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White/Blue Read the ongoing story here

Surviving is the best revenge

Into the bath he jumped fully clothed.
The water boiled, and curled his toes.
It shed his skin, his hair, his eyes.
But acid, not water burnt away both his thighs.
A ghastly end, but one incomplete.
For his bones remained from head to feet.
So out he jumped, forgetting his pride.
Down the plug the water went, with his thoughts of suicide.
And in the mirror glaring back.
Was his bleached white skeleton, from front to back.
He saw his skull, its sockets so deep.
Out of his mouth a little whimper did creep.
But not one to dither, or dwell in his state.
He ran down the stairs, and out the front gate.
And he came to the house that had made him so morose.
And he slipped through the door, as quiet as a ghost.
He crept up the stair, to where he knew he would find them.
And he brought out some rope, and some tape so to bind them.
Both lovers were sleeping, intertwined while they dreamt.
Their hair and their clothes, all wild and unkempt.
So he tied them together, then he set fire to the bed.
He watched as the flames roared up to their heads.
But before they departed, before their own bones were charred.
He slipped off his fibular to play a tuneful bon voyage.

You led me here

I woke, 4am; leaving nothing but my shadow asleep.
Making my way through the skeletons, through the tick-tock clocks.
My delusion is on the rise. Seeing you there, I know this must be a dream.
So I look up, and the dark sky collapses.
I shrink into the sweet toothed boy I always wanted to be.
You wear your suspicion like a badge, and you find me out.
Your maybelline eyes sink in like teeth, pouring my over.
‘Oh this heart’ you cry. Reaching out for something, reaching out for me.
But this place doesn’t need me. This is the sinking feeling I try to escape from.
Have tried to escape from all my life.
Remember, I have only just begun to understand.
I wanted you to be wrong, I wanted to be right. I wanted something I will never have now.
Shaking out the bruises that appear on my tongue, I spit out the apple peels that land at your feet.
You scoop them up like pearls.
You brought me here, you called to me to save you.
I cannot save but a tiny bit of time for myself, there is no hope for you.

Skeleton soul

Sometimes love is just not enough, you say this through closed eyes.
With a heart that no longer listens.
Crack, black, smack over me. Pouring through my veins.
Anger grips, then subsides.
The lonely spectre vacancy hugs me tight.
The skeleton sipping my misery.
Tickling my heart and playing a sorrowful tune on my ribs.
Tink.Tonk.Tink.
All gone, as I see you depart.
Head down, soul shaken, yet still whole.
You will never know how much these words have affected me.