A place where new waves come in....

Listen to: JJ - Let Go

Lost in Translation

We started off so peaceable, and perfect we were...
And then the mist rose, and we were carried with it for a time...

And then with slow but sure steps, we ended up on each others toes...
Lost ourselves in the translation of different lives....
Hitting the drum, and losing our rhythm...

How badly we want, and how awful we are.
With scratching fingers on each others backs... and screams....

Struggling for breath, amidst the hands covering each others faces..
Fighting for the others attention, a never ending war...

And as we lay there all broken, bloodied and bruised...
We nurse each others battle wounds...

And then we are gone.

Quarter past 11...

To hug them goodbye, and I lost a part of myself somewhere between the car door, and the street sign saying "Slow".

To the floor! I'll fall, to the floor... and leave myself there for a few hours, hoping the weather stays just as sour, wondering whether my feelings will let up, and whether or not to just give in and give up, all together...

Old Russian music plays in the background, a theme, for a day of contemplation, of frustration... a realisation of something more, than what I found whilst lying there on the floor, besides the bunnies of dust, and the nails of rust, protruding from the wood, to stab and reject, weapon in disguise, my demise, has changed.

Someone lies down beside me, their silence is pulling me out of my selfish spite and I turn and look into the face, and say "I'm not a believer"... and they say "neither am I".. "so what now?".. "let's sneak out the window and pretend we're spies"...

We jump out the window and watch for black cars, hearse-like, cop-like, anything with bars... we're on the run, and it's quarter past 11.... I'm hoping we'll still be alive and awake at quarter past 7.

I whisper to that someone: "We've got hours to make a scene...so kid, let's keep this one clean". We're in this together, hands tied tightly way down low behind our backs....and with that I forget about the car door, the floor and the street sign saying "slow"...

I forget about the street sign saying slow...

The Bands Around My Wrists..

I didn't sleep well last night.. noise from the tv in the other room with it's fake laughter, mocking me and my mind that wouldn't rest...

As I walked home today I saw an Autumn leaf....just floating along the path...I wanted to be that Autumn leaf.. moving where the wind decided to pick it up and make it dance without regret to where it was going... and my heart, it did dance, but it was pushing against my ribs in attempt to be free from its want.

I'd been in the pool earlier on in the evening, swimming, swimming.... trying to wash away that feeling that surrounded me... grabbing at me, just missing so as not to leave fatal wounds but close enough to leave scratch marks on my body as a warning...I floated around on my back for awhile staring at the white ceiling at its cracks and peeling paint, hoping to clear my head of it's worries and mess...

The water floated over me as I let myself sink under and everything was quiet, peaceful. As I resurfaced I kept a little of that solace with me... but it didn't last long.

In bed I felt as if ropes were bound around each wrist and and they are pulling me in opposite directions... leaving their marks... hoping to drag me away into each their own suffocating vortex.

Sleep found me eventually... and then before long it was morning... the bands still as tight, and I was losing feeling... and could no longer differ light from the dark....the truth from the lie...

Has anyone a knife....

Thankless Marriage

She stood alone, waiting, waiting... for a promise not to be fulfilled.

He came across the square from the wrong direction, a place he should not have been.

The questions started to fly, and the hands with them.

She wanted explanations, of his lateness, his secrecy.

His avoidance started in his eyes, and finished on the tongue...

Raised voices. Hurtful speech.

Hasty steps, hurried lies.

Desperation, in the form of a wife. Grabbing after his arm, his heart.

Shrugging off accusations, and her.

Forgiveness?

----------------------------------------------------------------------

I don't know how this ends....

Listen to: Spokane - Thankless Marriage

Alone in the Summertime.

Cups of Jupiter

Cups of jupiter tea... swirls of colour in the bottom of my cup..

Burning lips... A constellation in my hands..

Sinking battles, ships at sea. Woman by the windows... waiting. waiting.

We carry what we need, and lose the rest... along with our minds.. and our dress.

Sense and ability to leave.. now it's gone.

And we walk on.

But never forget, the scars on our arms, our hearts... the dark hooded cloaks that we will forever have covering our faces, so as not to look into the eyes of the ones who used the knife...and severed us apart.