reversal } cameo
Mar 7, 2015 23:55:30 GMT -5
Post by ines izar d11a 🖤 cait on Mar 7, 2015 23:55:30 GMT -5
T I L T O O D E L T R I Awakening is misery. To be pulled from the depths of restless sleep, where the demons of the night simply cannot match those of shifting realities – and so within them, the darkness is bearable. Misery, to wake to a bed with nobody by your side when you’re a twenty-two year old living in a sixteen year old’s body, craving all which was lost when you signed your soul to the devil, accepted futures of dishonesty in the presence of a saddened deity, a guilty conscience. Sleeping is terrifying, most nights, but starting another day with the sun filtered beneath bleary eyes feels like the Hell I’ll never escape, even when it is my bones fading beneath crumbling dirt and nobody to send me to redemption. Stumbling groggily through a dormant house, the day breaks. Upstairs, we’re alive; downstairs, they’re dying. Shallow breaths through the walls, compromised lives indistinguishable as one step, two steps, down the shaking stairs into the basement of rats condemned. To tally the dead that will not be; to revel in the stench of misery that is solace to the men above, it’s a man’s world. To survive it, one must live like them. No compassion, no room for benevolence, my heart turned cold years ago. One step, two steps, back upstairs where the air is a little clearer and Bone is still breathing through my veins and the door is opening as I touch the cool of its handle and I don’t look back as I leave, never looking back on what I leave behind every time it’s one step, two steps, when the paces drag on. Drumming feet against pavement, backlash from venturing past the rickety gates of home rattling tendons in ankles, shaking beneath skin, within bone and blood. Two roads diverged in a wood, and I took the one Invincible. Would you be invincible? I think so. Catastrophe on your tongue, and you are the grey spaces floating between time when the rest of the world is cast into black and white. Black, white, grey; Tiltoo, Tiltoo, Tiltoo. Faces swim in my vision, none of which look at me and yet I smile to the sun shimmering down on us all. Against a wall it is easy to blend in. Easy to see life unfolding, in all of its black-and-white dismissal. Black, white, mother and child. Black, white, words spiralling in a dance of tongues I cannot comprehend from across the Square, but they are words still, nonetheless – more than enough in a world robbed of those very pleasantries. Black, white, of letting go. Hands separated, the connection is broken when vulnerability unfolds and my dear, don’t you know there are lions about? They eat you up and spit you out with bones picked clean, you’re gone gone gone. The smile turns sour. Not today, not today. Instead, I strike a match, bring fire to my fingertips, fuel evil as it billows around my face, all the while praying the children of Melnont House are not so easily ignited. She runs, a young girl runs free and the lions do not catch her today. Reflections in her eyes – template by chelsey |
