My Sagging Black Fears

I have nothing more to say. My head has run out of words and I shall never again say something beautiful. It’s the curse of a child to be loved for who they are and it’s a cruel shock to realize that as you’ve grown older your flaws have become more apparent. But I am still innocent, not as adored, but still untouched.

And my feet, they’ve grown weary from chasing the trains. Their whistles swell in my carved head. I need to wake up and stop pretending that all the nights are peaceful.

What a broken dove I’ve become. My feathers are bent and crippled and I claw for some kind of stability. Until I found out it was your skin I’d torn. Then I cried a thousand broken tears.

I need to get some sleep, but all the pillows have gone. So my head sags through the mattress onto the cold stone floor. Chipped and depleted over the years, my head found no rest.

So I called upon a man who lives under my bed. With cold bare feet, he waits in peace. But when I call him he cries like a child. His rotten teeth sneer and rattle. His hair is copper and his skin is dust and he is the clay I molded out of my every fear. If you looked, where I see his yellowing eyes, you would only see the smooth of a worn floor.

I woke that poor creature. I opened my window and when I felt the wind rustle across my face.
I sent all my fears away.
I sent him home.