Fluorescent, flashing lights go out,
and I am descended into a darkness, so desperate that it draws its arms around me and holds on.
I hold my nerve,
hollow, held breaths as I count the beats of my heart,
each one taking longer than the last to arrive because I am travelling,
trailed by the deep darkness.
Life could be brand new,
stinging eyes, streaming sunlight,
I am waking up.
I’d like to say I was made somewhere,
but I don’t know that I’m complete.
A naive version of myself thought this would be a settled point in my life,
but she was deluded in the most darling way,
footsteps receding as she raises her eyes to the stars,
hopeful and hungry.
I have washed up on many beaches,
daughter of many shores,
never sure of which way to wander when the whistling wind calls,
just going wherever the breeze and the waves take me.
I left lavender letters on the pillowcase,
my eyes glittering in the sunrise’s gaze.
There were shadows spying in the door way,
but I had resigned myself to life as a laboured spirit,
so I had accepted it long ago.
The shadows toddled down the hallway behind me,
endlessly emulating the soft sway of my hips,
but never quite getting it,
reaching into the cupboard under my sink,
to search for a pot of paint, about my shade, to go for a swim in.
It made no difference.
I wrote myself in synths and sighs,
immortalising the girl I was last night on a cassette tape,
and the shadows sat at the kitchen table,
until I got sick of it and snapped the tape in two,
ribbons of rarity cascaded to the carpet,
and the shadows wanted it so badly that they launched to the floor,
holding what remained of the cracked shell and torn up insides.
I had become so used to telling people that I was a poisoned apple,
that I forgot to tell them I was cured,
fit for consumption,
keeping up the hostility,
the shadows once again copying me,
until they became so unbearable,
so unbelievably hard to love that even I became appealing by comparison.
Good morning glum one,
it’s a great day to be bounding through life with as much of a smile as you can salvage.
The world’s a little savage,
and the passage of time is sublimely snappy, when you really don’t need it to be,
but you are awake,
and you are breathing,
and that’s something.