All the little emptiness of unspoken words just loiters through the capacity of my room, my world, whatever this imaginable ‘intricate’ is called. I hate the eerie, painstaking noise drumming in my ears with incessant contempt, so I close my door and let the world fall over me. With arms wide open.
The air holds my breath and breath carries words and all the little thoughts of the day and its reckonings; thinking things through and weighting its delicate weight on the palm of my hand, closing things over so I can go to sleep.
Outside is like a picture; the trees dance about the lilac skies and arch over the strong fences. It’s a silhouette in a mirror found in reels and reels of film only in skies and skies of the past; still hoarse and wavering like the surging river’s course.
At night its dark so company is nice, where I’m not so much alone as my dark walls. I pin pictures up and posters along my bedpost to paint my world with the things I love. My little dream-catcher works sometimes; glinting and swelling over me like the thick lavender air (it’ supposed to help you sleep).
Life sometimes makes me laugh, though in a detestable way, but it still humours me to some degree. It only makes me laugh because it’s stupid; the hateful things people say to each other, the injustice, just the pure recklessness of some poor soul who runs themselves over in their own dim-witted rants; the world is spoilt; though this is my rant. I allow it to myself.
Promises made are promises broken and sometimes it’s hard to look back. The embers of the past fires don’t glow, it doesn’t bid itself to, it accepts the reckonings and all the emptiness. But I don’t, and I cannot. I want to dream and sleep free. Like a bird to air. Like waves to wind.
I might open that little door of mine, but for now I will weigh my thoughts entirely. Before the end of the world.
No comments:
Post a Comment