When it is so very cold in the night. Not from the radiator under performing.
It's not sleep when it is like being lost in smog. The sights seen, some of the worst. Choke on the air. It's a silent maid, and iron prison. Talk about those memories without pity. Fairly impossible. Describe them for the sake of it. Concern all over your features. Etched into your skin, the cracks form and the wrinkles show. The way they describe them, lines you'd want to change. Don't show your age. Don't let on that you are getting older. Yet they are what makes me want to trust you. Makes you seem messy. Makes you more human. We'll take the tone of vague and then you won't worry so much.
So void of emotion. Where did that smile come from? Inquisitive, not critical. Keep the air so light and free. When did so many become so ugly to one another? Not understanding, but knowing perfectly well at the same time. It's tricky. Keep things ticking over, the alarm will go off anyway.
Unexpected phone calls. That anxiety kicks in, even when it's those you love. Why did you have to ruin conversation for us?
Beauty died and someone took that place. Irresponsible and reckless. Made to believe it's an everlasting state, but instead gone so long ago. In this knowledge some get angry. Dance to another time, when she was kind and graced all she touched. Not this evil twist that the sister came in and evolved the concept to.
Singing in the store. It sounds very pretty. You hear the lyrics and cry a little. Begging in tune. "This happens to all of us". Don't say it's true. How can I prove to still love you, dear? No one else. "I've held up the door for every stranger with a promise".
Mountains of a mysterical nature. A haze of many colours that surrounds and glitters. Lost in a trance, what a sight to behold.
Fall from that into a nightmare, screaming but no one else in the house wakes. These are terrors, and hard to explain.
Where do we draw the line at experience? A lot is mistaken for it. Some call it a 'fanciful imagination'. They don't understand a mind like that. The way the owner is tricked. Control centre over thrown. Actions aren't faults, no instead consequences. It doesn't read like a picture book. Not a photo album that shows the happy times and secret smiles. There is so much more under the surface. "This is far beyond your years". The new liar, the writer. Yet that doesn't mean you can dive down and explore. We are private and so seemingly peaceful.
Fingers that won't lie still. Company the worst.
You say it's a mess, that it's all in my head. Made it sound like it's make believe. I loved the denial you handed to me on a silver platter. Something not to be tasted, not deserved. Not that way.
Stumble round the drunken trees. Careful to not hit them, they'll hold you close. Can't stand it. Off bounds, with no warning sign. You keep your reasons for staying away and I'll just accept them. No questions asked. Erased me.
I should write a piece of inspiration. Drawn from notes that strum well together. Conjured ideas that spill over the screen. Moving and destroying, a lavaesque design. It may be fake, but it might seem real. Then again, who could tell? Not even the writer. Lost a style that was deemed unique. When did it get off the page and walk out?
Started to wonder if even the birds see flight as freedom. More of a chore? Leave when the winter air arrives and promise to start up a life elsewhere, for a while. Constantly leaving. Do they even have a sense of home? Rise up and leave this place, "they looked like saints".
Want and wishing are a lost form. For the moment, that is now. I'm quite fine, you don't think so. Let's end hopeful. Please, please, please.
In all of this, hear from me soon (fingers crossed, the lucky kind!). Will you smell so different now?
"Just sing little darlin', sing with me."