it’s never about what happened but what it seems to have happened;
it’s always about what they say, not the truth;
the truth is wrapped in the silk of the hours;
there’s also a stain or a wrinkle
hidden in a fold of that smoothness: sometimes, without warning,
horror bursts out of it like a jack-in-the-box,
the gentle breathing of the rain becomes a scream -
a scream so piercing as if the whole world screams,
foliages tremble, mirrors break, birds fall from the sky; it is
the shrill wailing of a demon or a dying animal, it is
a sharp blade slashing the clean face of the day;
i listen, petrified, as it claws at my sanity; i freeze and close my eyes;
i try to summon the things i loved and cherished
in the valley of ashes and dancing shadows:
bleak childhood,
corrupted innocence,
pain yet unnamed.
please, no mercy for me: that horror is of my own making.
the narrow path we follow - who opened it for us?
i can see the threads between me and you and everybody else
like a colourful embroidery that grows and spreads;
i can see the traces I left in other people’s minds
when our dreams intersected for the blink of an eye;
i can see their hearts in mine - blazing, red, alive -
a fleeting impression of oneness,
of never being alone in life or death;
i can see myself plummeting into the vast darkness:
it is not a fall;
it’s an inverted flight to the stars.
diminished, defeated, unknown to the gods,
fallen at the feet of those I once loved;
here I am: a warm raindrop hanging from a spiderweb,
drinking the blood of the sunset;
come with me, follow the dark staircase up to the broken sky
of yet another sleepless night; i’ve got no stories to tell
but i’ve got illusions and false hope to peddle -
they are the honey of the poor and the cursed;
there’s also a sweeter poison you can pour in your cup:
the guilt and self-loathing of those who were betrayed,
wounded and left for dead.
stay still, wait no more, be silent!
watch the hours dance their menuet;
do not stir in your cocoon of lostness:
every flapping of the wings is a laceration
of the night’s smooth body.