I’m not held back by the lack of moonlight – the fireflies guide me even though I’m unnerved by their flutter. When the fireflies die, as they’re bound to – I’ll follow the sound of the Wolf and the trickle of the night river – streaming over land so cold and dense it sucks the life out of living things that lay on it. I’ll shiver in my armour against the rocks inside the cave. I’ll crawl through unending night to find a beacon no one believes exists until I reach it and set the fire.
If I just turn my laptop off and try to sleep, maybe I’ll stop feeling like a kitten lost in a forest as I type into the white beacon in the shrinking darkness. My shoulders won’t feel so cold and vulnerable if I lay down on them.
If I just lie down horizontal, my feelings won’t fall out, the room won’t be able to hold me in it’s bitter hand, I’ll sink into rest and feel better in the morning and I won’t be able to actively wonder if you’re thinking of me.
Dream of viciousness and feeling lost.
Dream of bending over edges in high places and short skirts.
Dream of dark skies hiding neon colours in bricked rectangles.
Dream of bony fingers just clinging to their hinges, finding their way towards your mouth. Sucking them is accompanied by the very real fear that they might come off and you’ll be holding them between your lips.
Dream of violent altercation over who pissed on the floor, queue staying stubbornly intact all the while, through angry eyebrows and raised voices, a slammed door and a tut.
Dream of being summoned out with an arm in the air, giving a hateful glare but still having to traipse home with aching nubs for feet and never actually getting there.
Sky of night, Lined and Chequered emptiness, Filled with things that have matter but don’t matter. Vast ocean, rolling waveless, churning possibilities in the minds of the tiny, Tiny bodies look for other tiny bodies in the black. Little people who feel so big -Share my tiny life with me.
Spider black eyes
Extra ones with sparkles
Blue, Orange, Black
Little did I know I’d end up in the toilet cubicle
Slipping in and out of my own mind
My sisters protect me
Escorted me out
Left my rubber spider there
Or in M’s room where I stayed and cried all night
Webs on the carpet in the morning
The usual post night discussion halted,
Everyone’s throat filled with silken silence.
At night, towns feel different.
Things happen in a different way.
I have vivid memories of traipsing round towns feeling bizarre,
feeling detached because something strange or heartbreaking’s happened.
Weird chats happen in smoking areas and outside toilets.
Glass thrown about,
Feeling vulnerable in a sea of faces.
People’s eyes change.
Darkened rooms and arguments you wouldn’t like to come back from.
True fears unleashed as they squabble and blub out words
Lips release them into the night.