More than a year now. But the smell remains. Musty and pungent. Whitewashed walls. Servant smells.
What it was like then. What everything is like now.
Where are we?
What the hell is going on?
The dust has only just begun to form
crop circles in the carpet
Sinking feeling..
I peep through the open doorway. Old trunks and paintings, dirty books, seventies London outfits, rags, medicines and keys. The history of a single phase.
Amidst she crouches, wrapped in thin, sickly blue. Her hair is disheveled, her clothes worn. As always.
Change? For her? An anomaly!
Where will she go?
What is this I feel?
Spin me round again
and rub my eyes; this can't be happening
when busy streets a mess with people
would stop to hold their heads heavy
The grand curtains are pulled shut. The floor is now bare, the carpet pushed aside. The bookcase still contains his unstolen treasures.
I remember staring at her bare white bed. Screaming.
I recall a frightened kiss on a withered cheek. Days before I stared.
Dust looks beautiful in the sun.
hide and seek
trains and sewing machines
All those years
they were here first
I laugh for her sake. Two prominent wrinkles beneath her lips. Her skin hungrily snatches the sunlight.
The paintings are beautiful, destroyed. Time shrugs and grins.
I ask if I can take a memory. The four bedroom portraits are on the floor.
Oily marks appear on walls
where pleasure moments hung before the takeover,
the sweeping insensitivity
of this still life
Why didn't this happen before?
And I recall the torture, the pain that was not mine.
I encounter Jekylls and Hydes. I push them away, I pull them back.
Golden sun filters on my face. The car is accelerating. My stomach is turning over.
Why do both left and wrong have 'right' as an opposite?
We turn left.
Fear.
Anticipation.
hide and seek
trains and sewing machines
(you won't catch me around here)
blood and tears
(hearts)
They were here first
We're going up the bridge. Speed fast, constant.
My stomach is still rumbling, but I love it. It's faded into the background, a constant feeling.
Change. Beginnings.
Mm whatcha say?
Mm that you only meant well?
Well of course you did
Mm whatcha say?
Mm that it's all for the best?
Of course it is
They don't let me think. They start to chatter. They play their music. They need my advice.
Mm whatcha say?
Mm that it's just what we need
You decided this
Whatcha say?
Mm what did she say?
Pink, cobalt and sienna blends together and fades away. Cold, mysterious night awaits. My prayer vanishes in the air.
Favoritism. Arrogance.
Day will dawn.
ransom notes keep falling out your mouth
mid-sweet talk, newspaper word cut-outs
speak, no; feeling, no; I don't believe you
you don't care a bit
you don't care a bit
I lose myself in conversation. Arguing, laughing, scowling, sarcasm. Being.
(hide and seek)
oh no, you don't care a bit
(hide and seek)
oh no, you don't care a bit
All will be right with the world.
you don't care a bit
you don't care a bit
*song: Hide and Seek by Imogen Heap. I do not own this song or the lyrics.
I LOVE THIS. It's beautiful.
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