Day 15 – Stolen

Finally caught up, half way through the month! Actually I think that’s pretty impressive, given that I was away working for all of last week. I have been writing a lot this past week thanks to Nanowrimo. Thank you, and thank you all for the likes and comments on the pieces I’ve produced so far.

 

Like a thief

You crept

Into my room last night

I was alone in my too-large bed

Curled up around my books

As a child with its bear

And you planted a single breath

On my face

While I shifted, lilting, between dreams

I never stirred

But in the dream

Your face blossomed like a sudden flame

And I knew then.

 

What did you take from me

Only something I thought I could never give

And I never asked for it back

Because I never thought I’d need it again

After you

There are no words

No notebook, no pencil

Nowhere to write

You have stolen all this from me

And replaced it with air

Which is not the same

As nothingness.

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Calluses and experience

I was in my room
Learning the words
To the songs on the ceiling
Looped lyrics round the lampshades
Outside the window birds changed from
Swooping to dying in chromatic scale
Battered on the glass helpless as hail
You were already lost in the
Halo of a car crash

When you were clashing shoulder
Blades with nightmare knives
I was in my room
Connecting the dots
On the staves
Into filigree mosaics
Tessellating tiles like sharpened teeth
Outside the window seasons blurred
Rising and falling arpeggios
Leaves like skeletons absorbed and oblivious

I was in my room
Coaxing melted wax
Into rivulets
Burning through notepaper
With indigo ink like incense
Outside the window people were
Lacing up the country in wire
Corset constrained and powerless
You were falling into the hole
Left when your parents lost
Control of their skin cells

When you were burning and shaving
Equating removal of pain with
Unbuilding the body
I was in my room
Reading postcards
Addressed in foreign letters
Closed in dotted boxes
Words without the weight of bruises
Outside the window everyone was
Autosomatic curved in like nodes
Without potential empty of amplitude

I was in my room
While everything funnelled into entropy
Outside the window
All I can write about
Is the glass that divides us

via Calluses and experience.