Eyes red prompt with flamboyant sharpness and exuberant interest. Asking to be devoured ? Fine mouth for a bait, inviting men in thoughtlessly it feels like a velour binding wrapping in tight ringed mouvement my surroundings.
Docile in the act of revealing the flesh of her neck. A predation technic taught too well to pretty cat-like women her age. And tender once more is the flesh, grained beads of golden complexion I can picture myself capture the smell of in mini bottles meant for ardent spirits as if her smell was catchable, drinkable. A full white pearl dangled from a suspended string hooked on her earlobe. Silver lining to my athirst yearning tugging with truculent rigor my affliction to be desired.
"Work for me darling" she says
The status of her voice indifferent and thin against the situation at hand, it makes my fingertips mellow down to a shameful sweat. Playing with my pen. Giving moderate attention, lukewarm affection. May I call it ? or was it a forbearing habit to the likes of me ? That stare she effortlessly gave was a repetitive practice that told stale tales; discreetly too sublayered to be perceived or detected by a grey crest fallen man caught in a frenzy with sweaty hands and a half burning waiting to be finished cigarette disregard on a full ashtray.
Am I the darling ? Can the darling be blinded by a sheen of gleam of a white-hued earing, can he be a suburban with spilled coffee on his journal, the very same he wrote despair and turmoil in prose passages paired with poetry verses, lines and marks of self-indulgence that sunk a life in misuse and self loath on cheap yellow paper, can he be a motherless, can he be a dying vessel of ambition; eaten away by a crippling fear concocted with a dash for penchant disorder, cleaving away at his own mind for a still ray of quiet. Just for a mere night can I not pull the splinters of rage out of my bloodless skull ? Can he be distressed by strangers' incalculable acts of kindness: bless you they'd say, an understanding of little depth followed by a fast skintight smile.
There suddenly I remember while she still breathed in my direction that beside her eerial presence her radiance and water-like impenetrable gelid aura I too was seated to the library table she was seated to. What an event !
"Didn't you hear me ?" The girl to my bewilderment spoke a second time to me. Oh Glory !.
"No sorry" I said
A soft unhearable chuckle came to my ears whilst her dowy eyes glinted in the lightest sprite of joy like a sapling peering through the raw layer of dirt onto outward surface.
"I asked you for the time"
Shall I be a clock so she can gaze at me eternally ?
Peering at the watch at my wrist and back to the romanesque beauty before me
"Half past five"
In a failed attempt to clear the unintentional unfeeling grimace I had on my features with a bold simper. Females who held my company always have told me with a certain delectable zest in their sour reproaches that my hands were as cold as my face. The ghost of my dad prevailing to linger on my facial structure; resisting my mother's genes for goodness ?
To what they spoke myself said nothing as I without a small sign of relief appearing in my gestures that kept on fondling with their sheap tight clothes. I was grateful for not being stolen of my condor and my violent sentiment: the gravest passion I cradled with wretched hands in the arcane leaden haze that came after midnight, the fallout of frail waltzing stars downward and into chipped dark blue skies.
I still had a warm fever in me
In that more or less one pound organic primary organ called heart althought mist of melancholia has been customarily stalking my trail around every sunbeamed tile and shade of dawn redwood tree, tracking my very turn like an outlaw in pursuit. I did try to dispose of the company; I walked barefoot kept the moth curtains close and didn't walk under a light. Natural or synthesised. For a week in hope of avoiding the pictorial apparition of my opaque shadow. Yet it came down to me smeared and grimed. Plagued the skin in hot flashes the rippled over my body like veering waves of stinging heat, pushing my deflated nerves across the precipice of panic. To my knees I choked and convulsed. This is not supposed to be a part of me ! Awhile my head emptied my eyes couldn't focus on any inert object, blurred the floor seemingly moving like a checkered giant ferris wheel I closed my eyes shut clutching my chest where truth had finally prevaded to settle bitterly. Might have to kill myself before admitting the next line...my heart has been long gone, wilted are the camellias of its ventricles, scourged are the veins I thought carried life; I'm wasted in palpitations, a corpse in form of human ruin. It was never the shadow I tried to melt away in supple darkness. Yet the hand ! the hand that grabbed my boots in the train station!
It's me. It's in the ivory dents of my rotten marrow sleeping unnuddged in between my interlocking bones all 206 one of them. Trimmed, grinded to fit precisely into my body. This scum body of a shadow man. You may say it was sewn to be a custom-fit suit I bought with the will of my father. Priceless, made of the coldest threads.
Or was it me elbows deep into a meadow of rapt childhood delights. Before being eight, mom's scent in the air, the fluff of a cake to a celebrated birthday, sweet symphonies. Holding a flare, a living traitor eating air with a gag that chuckled in spits of flame in my hands. At large: boyhood pictures of myself in the vastness of a jade grassland bloomed tall on a pedestal that seemed to be in a field of growing sunbathing hay; embedded in moist pasture and wild flowers. I remember the day I killed myself for the first time. Clear baby blue sky with the most imaginary milky clouds floating ahead to the promising vista and the smell of burning hay palatable in the atmosphere.
Reminiscent in frank indulgence of thoughts and revery of that first and a first it was ! The sight of me discharging myself all at once. Content. Throwing it over my shoulder like a disposable cup that's been salvaged only to decompose under the grey. But vividly if honesty liked to wrap it painful tongue around mine, the emotional withdrew happened retrogradely with yhe greatest denial throughout a decade or more without realisation of my conscious. Allowing myself to fill with the bluest blue as the smoke and dull ash settled down with the heaviest downpour. I'd love to think that my mother was crying for me.
The meadow cleared, a certain scintillating bleak shadow behind me bowed with a murk reverence.
In a slowing down rhythmic pace the breath of the dead evened, their body unconscious in a ceaseless limbo of a tick tock sound aggravating his temples.
Labouring the sweaty breath out of a dried throat, parched until he came clawing at his torso seized by a mad delirious voice; a devil's rasp rubbing a man's heart with cold sentiments.
"It seems that a passionate gentleman has grown a fond habit for dying"
A demented cord-cutting scream numbed the minute, sterilising the world of peace for a moment. Then furious cries, brisk raging fists and other limbs fastening him down. Buckling him tightly on the bed like a provoked hound.
Reality feebled around; a drunken bitch singing the national anthem in an abraded ruck pitch.
The library is no more and the pen is gone from his sweaty fingers but a red-eyed girl with the darkest mane and the most silken soft touch; ill defined by tears yet still nebulous hushing a prayer verse.
"You're okay everything is gonna be okay I'm here"
Clearer than god I heard her.
You killed yourself too today
You killed yourself twice today didn't you
Octobre 2022
YOU ARE READING
Field Notes ▪︎ Prose (2)
PoetryKillin' a few with a smile is what's called romanticism of war 🫀 Short texts about my mental affliction
