"I have my books and my poetry to protect me I am shielded in my armour Hiding in my room, safe within my womb, I touch no one and no one touches me. I am a rock, I am an island And a rock feels no pain, and an island never cries."
My hairs tied up and covered by plastic. I step into the shower. The warm and authorised rain. The routine begins. This is just my everyday ritual, the necessity of hygiene. There are no differences from today to any other day. For the physical actions taken today have been structured.
Suddenly, my chin starts shaking. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and tell myself to have some self control. But another thought overruns - this is your solitude. You always feel safe here. It's the one place to let go.
Eyes still closed, I clench my fists firmly, still breathing... but this time, I breathe out, I relax and let myself overcome to the build up of tension and disbelief running through my veins.
Streams of uncontrollable tears mingle with the hot water splashing over my face. No one could decipher which is which. Therefore it's not happening.
Anger at my weakness rises through my body and I rest my forehead against the cold tile wall, immediately becoming aware of the goofy shower-cap wrapped around my skull... rather inappropriate at the present time.
I remain here for a while, reliving, reminiscing, while soothing rivers of water are running down my back. It calms me slightly. Though the mere thought of something past brings me to such hysteria, pain and hurt, that the entire cycle repeats, and I fall down again.
Once I get out I look at my red and puffy face in the mirror, my cheeks rosy pink and my eyes glistening, looking like I had just taken eye drops. I automatically dry my swollen and torn body, as if in a trance. For once in a long while, I keep the fan above my head running. Not to soak up the remaining wisps of steam, but to drown out the silent sobs and choking.
I untie my hair and it falls onto my shoulders. I turn off the fan and lights. The routine is finished. I stumble opposite the hallway to my bedroom, where I sit in a daze, mind still passively racing. My hand writes of memories, automatic actions, how everything's a blur and surreal. Lonely tears fall onto the paper, smudging the black ink, leaving not only words the page cannot comprehend, but a physical sign of some raging battle of torment within. The light switches off; I close my eyes once more for today and I listen to the rain falling outside my window. The cool breeze brushes against my skin and memories consume and repeat over in my mind. Just make it stop.
Dark yet different colours circles around me, as if I’m the centre of their attention. A bed, a wardrobe, a table, a chair, a shelf and a window; staring at me, silently sitting there, and waiting for me to move. All I could do is look around me, as if I were somewhere strange, somewhere I didn’t expect myself to be. I stare straight in front of me where the window sits plaintively. I could not help but smile at the pink ledges all around, centred with a white square shaped mirror. Suddenly, the wind blew the windows open, as if it were angry and yelling at me. My smile suddenly faded, hoping this will not last for long. It didn’t. The room suddenly became quiet and still, with just the sound of the wind, as if gasping for air. As I smelled the scent of the outside world, I could not help but put the smile back on my face. As I turn to my left, there lies my bed. It bends as if trying to touch its toes, bending flexibly. Then, the corner of the bed sheet flipped, as if it was doing an arm stretch, warming up for athletics. The thought of that just wanting to make me jump around, follow its example. When the corner of the bed sheet was back in its place, the bed set silently as if it’s sleeping from tiredness, like the day was finally over. At the end of the bed, there stands my shelf. It’s fully loaded with books and treasures, as if it’s dressing it self, about to perform a dance. Suddenly, a ball rolled off the shelf, as if crying from a terrible fall. Then, everything seems to shake, as if it’s shaking from nervousness. On the other side of the bedroom stands my wardrobe, with the dark coating, as if standing in a dark corner, with only but its shadow visible. The handle shining in the darkness is as if one of its eyes is peaking through a hole. The boxes on top look as if the wardrobe is wearing a wig, trying to impress his friends. Next to the wardrobe, there sits a table, and a chair close by. It’s as if they were talking in whispers, not wanting anyone in their conversation. Suddenly, the chair topples over, as if it has just heard a joke, laughing hilariously. The red colour of the table, looks as if the its face is burning with frustration. As I picked up the chair, and slid it under the table, it’s as if the table is hugging and comforting the chair. Just then, everything around me seems to be circling closer and closer to me, as if they are trying to get me. Suddenly, I sat up in my bed, gasping for breath. I looked around, and saw that everything was normal. Like is supposed to be (?)
…There comes a moment in time for every vampire when the idea of Eternity is unbearable. Living in the shadows… feeding in the darkness with only your own company to keep rots into solitary, hollow existence. Immortality seems like a good idea until you realize that you are going to spend it… Alone…
I lay looking up at you as you stand between my thighs reach for your muscles your sculpted abs your body reacts to my flesh hardening and shuttering a gasp escapes your throat I moan a mixture of pleasure and pain the sound pushes you further deeper inside me a button is pushed the damn breaks the river floods chilling my body my muscles tense closing around you and you freeze standing at the edge of the cliff begging to fall when you hit the ground your lips encounter mine a passionate kiss rough as the seas we rock upon.
Here she is again in that same mundane place, where her Identity slinks in the corners, waiting.
To everyone else, the room is far too ordinary.
An easy chair there, by the window. Her cherry sleigh bed with its comforter, spilling over with mosaic impatiens.
An abandoned book languishing on the nightstand, nursing lonely eyeglasses.
It is a room plump with neatness and accord, yet her blue house slippers beside the dresser are poised for a raucous escape.
Because if she opens the curtains and strains under the feeble light, certain things loom evident: spatters of discontentment have been left on the walls.
Scattered among the carpet fibers coarse pebbles of distaste mark unsuspecting bare feet with an uneven, uneasy gait.
So she wonders how she’s supposed to live and breathe here when only a thread of repose remains— somewhere, near the foot of the bed.
The sun is setting, the shadows are falling and I must say farewell. I want to stay and spend forever But… We were here through happy times and sad We listened to each other's problems sadness, depression and all that Shall I cry? I think better not it’s only temporary we will always endure us in our memory. And so, as we part I say, till we meet again...
Gazing out the window, nose against the glass, She watches raindrops as they trickle past. Rivulets of water, tears streaming down her face, Her angry eyes flashing at some infantile disgrace.
Older but not wiser, she stomps out on her own— Wilfully defiant, consequences hers alone. Authority rejected, she's a law unto herself, Hubris placing decency upon a dusty shelf.
As clouds collect on mountain peaks, so lines upon her brow. They multiply and divulge her bitter spirit now. Nurturing her selfishness, she's reaping what she sowed: Clinging to each petty right, relationships turn cold.
When she glance into the mirror, what sort of face looks back, Eyes gently graced by smile lines, or frown-etched tracks? Each head turns grey and beauty fades into a memory, But surrendered spirits bloom afresh in eternity.
