Oh, how things change.
How long have I been sleeping?
The creak of joints and bones is my life's tempo. Grating, so grating this eternal body. Stiff from unuse now, or overuse perhaps from before I'd folded into the black. How long has it been? Who the hell knows how long it's been. One step and another, this same old ritual, same dance, different day, different people, different circumstances. But still there are pops of protest when my formerly inanimate robe finds motion again.
Disturbed.
You're disturbing.
Cover your hideous face.
No one will talk to you again until then.
Don't smile like that.
She said, she said.
She said.
They said.
They don't know, they never will. I could tell them, but I won't. Not now.
At least I stand, at least I move. My shoulders roll like the wild black of my eyes. Only if you're close will you see the white there. Oh, but then you're a brave dear, living boldly, aren't you? Coming closer to such a beautifully haggard thing like me? Good for you, sweetling.
Good for you.
And when you come closer you'll see the dirt that dulls my vibrant gold, where there was once sleek raven strands there is now matted, tangled brown. But that smile, that brilliant flash of white set against the black of my cracked lips will let you know, let us know, that I'm still very, very much awake.
And alive.
@[bruise]
How long have I been sleeping?
The creak of joints and bones is my life's tempo. Grating, so grating this eternal body. Stiff from unuse now, or overuse perhaps from before I'd folded into the black. How long has it been? Who the hell knows how long it's been. One step and another, this same old ritual, same dance, different day, different people, different circumstances. But still there are pops of protest when my formerly inanimate robe finds motion again.
Disturbed.
You're disturbing.
Cover your hideous face.
No one will talk to you again until then.
Don't smile like that.
She said, she said.
She said.
They said.
They don't know, they never will. I could tell them, but I won't. Not now.
At least I stand, at least I move. My shoulders roll like the wild black of my eyes. Only if you're close will you see the white there. Oh, but then you're a brave dear, living boldly, aren't you? Coming closer to such a beautifully haggard thing like me? Good for you, sweetling.
Good for you.
And when you come closer you'll see the dirt that dulls my vibrant gold, where there was once sleek raven strands there is now matted, tangled brown. But that smile, that brilliant flash of white set against the black of my cracked lips will let you know, let us know, that I'm still very, very much awake.
And alive.
@[bruise]