Thursday, 26 April 2012

The Destruction of Small Ideas

"O where are you going?"

So tired and hurting. Writing things that are nonsensical and magic. They don't heal but are a form of temporary escape. They're never finished. Ideas cut short. The knife draws blood and panic sets in for the latter skin. A way out for a little while, or so. I've been going mad lately. These are memories.

Shall we play a game? Hide and seek in the garden. Weaving in and out of every rose bush, wary of the thorns. A small space to seem alone in, yet the cards will plague minds. Deal a future or two. Peering through the leaves, spying for an eyelash. Mind racing, you're eliminating the possibilities. Where to go? Where they'd be? Stopped in thought. The roses, so beautiful. Colours of all kind blossomed all around. Perfect. Then the rain came. It sprinkles on petals and sits on leaves. Makes them alive.

I wish I was a feather. To be so very delicate. Lighter than the idiom and able to drift away. Perfect enough to land on the water and float away. Elegantly so, as if planned. Innocent from all sins and worldly matters. Lucky enough to have seen such great sights and to have stayed so close to someone beautiful and warm. So tiny. To be a feather is so far from human. To be so far from that; my heart wishes this wholly.

Once wrote on pages about how loneliness must enjoy to ensnare the company of those feeling his call. A company so miserable. "Only to make us as sad will cure his misery". Cover you in oil, drench your soul. Burning to create a light, the kind that lets you see the flaws, not the beautiful dancers.

Nobody had to do this, they wanted to. Acceptance is a key. It's found but not used because we are so fickle. "I don't want to forget to love you."

Take a little sail boat and cast out the white sheets. They should be buffed by the wind and feel bruised, but alive. A feeling so understood it should be sad, but instead the cold wind makes us numb. The water swashes beneath the wood. Makes the surface sway and we concentrate on keeping balance. There's no room for anything else.

Black is everywhere. Some call it a classic design, others say it is mourning. They're buying it to wear to weddings and the staff don't understand. The bursts of colour, too bright, too bold. I'm so very tired of thinking of all things, it makes me too awake for sleep. I am no good for anything. My heart is black.

Not struggling. Coping. Not. I miss forever ago. When was happy? Afraid.

Don't let me in the water alone.

The little jigsaw is a mess and maybe some of the pieces are missing. Started on the edges but the corners don't add up add up. The hiding place is lost and your partner will never find you. The roses were completed because beauty is essential. We need to see something pretty if nothing else is working. Wish you so much happiness. 'Take Care' is not said enough, whilst 'Love' is frittered away. Crazy diamonds refract all the light in you and it's confusing to know which direction to follow in. The rainbow, a fake beauty.

Cure some misery to create another. Can't control today.

1 comment:

  1. I hope the bad feelings leave soon.

    You have the amazing ability to take badsadmad thoughts and make them into the Monet of prose.

    Beauty makes life bearable. Your beautiful words make life good again.

    Take care of yourself, Gorgeous Mhairi. Love you so very much <3


Thank you for your words.