stream of thought-23-03-2015

This pain needs morphine, I need to cauterise this cancer, cut it out clean to the root, these few mutated cells , this mass, I needs be rid of this darkling mind.  I feel like a purpose wrought device that had been placed and bent to a foreign goal and with every turn, every turn of the lathe, my soul rebels. This hungry ghost that lives inside me would better served outside, I wish people could see this taint I carry, like some blood borne sickness, but I suffer in such sublime smile decorated silence that no one will ever know.


I am madness and fire underneath velvet silence. My work becomes my morphine and through years of practise, I too can say the company lines and laugh with them all. No one sees this broken smile, but they feel this yawning empty, this starvation pain over unyielding acres of want, I see it in their eyes, the looks they fetch out for me. It is being supremely worthy that makes me unworthy. I can not tell if they know how this feels, if they too wait for dark to pet their ghosts. If their pain is sometimes so empty, they would exchange all the world to fill it.

Only I, I walk here in the were-life longing for a dream that has always danced on the horizon. I push my mind till it is silent but still in exhaustion it calls in vain to it's other when there is none. Who can know the fate, the slow poison of passion turned inwards than those that love has forgotten. I the unlovable. I would say we but I know of only me. Even here at my most weak I am but one.


I am strong, warrior valour and I take the pain from those I love. I stand on the edge of what must be and want can not be allowed to be and I hold the line. I am many things, and in each of them I am this one thing. I don't blame them for not seeing, I know I hide it all. If I walked the waking world, like this wraith, I could not survive so I bound my tender heart beneath my noise and bluster. But under the armour of distance and cynicism I am still this woman, on the brink of being forgotten, this sad eyed girl who weeps for the chance she never had.

I am not in the moments of platitudes, in the day-time world in the cold plans, in my ambition in my strangeness there lies but only half of me and in the dark there lies the rest. The rest and she longs for a soft place to fall without having to check for knives, a voice to reassure and for once someone who will be in charge and allow her to fall to pieces and be gathered up again glued together by his faith and loyalty.

I indulge in my favourite fantasy often, I write and rewrite the script with different players. I wrap it in shimmers of possibility, I write it in words like sweet sugar candy but it is small sustenance. I know who I am, what will be and each day I long to awaken free. no more longing. No more dream. Just still peace.