the taste has faded
my mouth is stale
my face is covered in dried, crusty tears
it’s chilly in the house now
very quiet
there’s a light snow covering the ground
muffling even the deer’s footsteps
I’m lost
don’t know where to turn
the one candle I’ve lit
is hard to take
it hurts my eyes
will it always be this way
will I always feel empty
rattling abandoned like a ghost
in a house whose shadows keep me company
the creaks and moans echoing voices I sometimes catch
whispering dirges in spring, awaiting winter
I want to sing along to the strange tunes
but there are no words
for mists and dirges
as they creep through me and the old house
lost, we’re lost, abandoned
the other side
I had to hurry
the trees were curling inwards
threatening to cover the trail
I could barely keep ahead of the destruction
dark pines were dappled with amber light
the smell of smoke pervaded
I still wasn’t sure if this was even real
there was no slowing down
even around the sharp curve
my feet pressed to go faster, further
memories of other escapes assailed me
I could taste the terror
the metallic flavor of fear
I was making my way through the tumult
expecting the hills to fall down around me
but finding a path, though it grew smaller
darkness settled in
eventually comforting me
as it halted the flow of disturbing images
other senses took over
but somehow became skewed
to my own version of reality
was it what I hoped
or what I feared
or was it the truth
any questions I had I held in check
as I realized that though there had to be others
I was in fact alone in this
after traveling far
whether by time or distance, I’m still not sure
a glimmer arose in the horizon
and I knew I was on the other side
Nothing But Time
I didn’t want jewels or furs or flowers or chocolates or cars or letters
All the things you said could be mine
I wanted your hand
But it was full of things you were doing
I wanted your kiss
But you were busy talking to others
I wanted your time
And that was something
Too precious, valuable
For you to ever part with
For such a silly pursuit as love
Queen of Spades
Hail, queen of the idiots!
I am to be revered for all my quirks and foibles.
You must feel like bowing in the face of such incompetence.
Or at least feel like running away.
No truer words need be said besides touting all the times I’ve tripped and erred.
I’m not sure I’d recognize the right path no matter how well trimmed and lit;
I much prefer making things hard on myself.
Life may be difficult, but I only wallow in comfort when I’m in extreme discomfort.
Have things ever gone smoothly?
Of course but the times were fleeting at best.
Do we rise to our stupidity? Sink to our depravity?
What makes us keep trying?
Do connections really count or is all the time we spend an excuse and distraction from the torment we hold at bay, the fate that we know lurks around the corner.
Hope abandoned long ago, my heart has atrophied.
The only fluttering I feel is the moths flying out of the closet.
Panic
No matter she sat in a room full of people; she was as always alone in her thoughts. Listening to speeches and the crowd murmurings, she began to feel the familiar panic welling within. The voices started sounding like a Greek chorus speaking Pig Latin. The air felt thinner as if she were climbing towards a summit. In the rare instances she was addressed, she could nod and offer appropriate platitudes. But the rest of her time was spent trying to breathe and smile.
She glanced at the teeming hordes in their finery and felt like a snail: all slippery and delicate on the inside but housed in a society-approved shell. How long was long enough at this event before she could go home and strip her defenses? She’d rather give up the expensive filet and fancy dress here and eat cookies naked at home.
Picturing the falling cookie crumbs brought her heart back to an acceptable rhythm. She imagined her favorite detective on tv, unravelling mysteries while crumbs fell between her breasts. Realizing a stuffed shirt was addressing her, she nodded and laughed at his silly joke with her mind on the cookies she had baked that morning. The chandeliers seemed to highlight the egos of the room and she wondered if she could find and solve any mysteries here. People and their frippery were certainly a puzzle to her.
Were people really concerned about the so called “winners” of recent reality shows? Were they so delusional they thought a politician’s speech would make any difference? Were they so sure of their status they quoted only recent best selling novels? Where were the artists, the thinkers, the inventors?
She felt bile rising up as she started to fall into a chasm. She was alone again in a large room full of people. No one there knew her or could tell she was in trouble. She could drown in a sea of societal mores.
Then with a start she had a thought: what if there were others here just like her? What if they were hiding their uniqueness under cloaks of respectability? What if others were suffering like she was at that moment, sipping their drug of choice to maintain an almost even keel? How would she ever know? There were no signals. No way of telling what lurked beneath the drones.
Steeling herself with an outward calm, she knew it was almost over. Just a few more handshakes, nods, and empty smiles and she was home free. She felt the confines of her dress’ seams and knew she’d be comfortable in her own skin again soon. With no one but herself to please, she just had to let the clock run out and get home.
The Word Rummager 