The walls are falling down
reddish brown, the color of dried blood.
Beneath the scabs, a deeper scar was
found, puckered in its patterning - revealing
the tip of all that still remained unseen.
Trembling, a gentle touch, and then
another round of great withdrawal.
Desperately, he sought her
amid the many superstitions;
never knowing just how black
this art of his might really be.
Cautiously and carefully, he
felt his way along, praying nothing
would go wrong this time; knowing
that a misstep could mean death
of everything he held most sacred,
there within his walls.
Connection made, he paced
diffidently easing out each word.
And still, he could not quite believe
the pain and misery he heard as
she responded honestly to him.
How cruelly singular she had become.
Every time he thought he'd won, another
loss would take away each gain.
He felt the threads of great insanity,
even as they reached so deep into
Drugged and half insane already;
realizing nothing much had really
changed at all, he stalled the tremor
threatening to shatter what he held
to be the truth. He stretched and
yawned and slowly moved - ah yes,
reality was surely there with him.
A dream, a dream - it must have
been no more than just a dream!
...then why this scarring
its ugly patterning, growing all too
real within an etching feel of misery?
Dull and hazy, memories began
their beckoning. Locked so deep
inside - was that a quiet rumbling
of distant voices that he seemed
to hear just then? And there, just
out the corner of his eye - ah no,
he knew it wasn't really her at all.
Just endless patterns, growing
the ever-tumbling of these,
his many walls...
? Michaelette ?
Copyright© 2001 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
Take me home...