Capricious

53 - A Flake of Snow

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes, but in having new eyes."
- Marcel Proust

Just living through shades of pain and thinking time away. Defeating exams one by one in the heat of lusting taboos. Building palaces in my mind to hold all I need to write, pride and disappointment yet known to be fickle friends. Then lost in the corruption of feverish dreams, chilled to the bone then raging hot, aches destroying what little of me is left. Still I run through to the finish line, underwhelmed with pain, celebrating all I don't feel. Forging through sleep to date away, a shimmering gown and flavoured gins, candlelight in the dark of the night, as my fair lady sings into my other ear, and I become passive to each while darker to my home, without cause descending into depravity again.

Fighting urges to use things up, against saving for a rainy day, when I needn't or when I may.

Then as my health dwindles, the world around me begins to glitch, occurrences seeming without cause, a lapse in perception perhaps, or a malfunction in a world that is only projected by me.

I'm falling away from her, in desire and mind, in light of wishes she would remain, however cosy her memories lie. My rose has departed, a different shade entirely from that which burned with me time ago, she flickers in and out. Replaced crudely by a flake of snow, her presence merely cordial, yet who sends a series of tunes to comfort the absence of another. She roams around my passions, more a friend that neither flusters nor excites, and I play my part too perfect without feelings involved. Hide behind and with I may and hope for things to grow, now my rose seems lost forever, and there's nothing else I can do, but my invisible fuck you.

Cheerful respites from the damned, flowing see-saws without plans; do not ask for I shall tell, and for all time lie with a lying spell.

Trespassing in my own dreams, exiled to an ignorance of a sharpened sun and whirls of subconscious rambling, the butcher and the plain. Stretching my muscles and my body, departing this straining shell that traps me, the mayhem in my mind receding just, I burn into pleasure, with a phantom pain present, praying on my whims. Drifts of cloud miring through my head even as my mind sparks with a future of adventure, coming together in a summer's day of swirling tunes, flickering lights and cosy shores. The light of a frozen rose shouting and doubting ever so, mere lovers in the wind, that we ever were; and a melting snowflake prowling around, charging my ecstatic dreams, even as I prey without desire. And so I move on through, falling away from the devils in my mind, sticking to the edge as far as I can go, taking comfort in the tragedy of life, that I might make more of than I ever knew.

A sport I found myself playing, using the rules of another game, and left wondering why I lost.

Sinking roots where they do not belong, no nutrients for us to grow, left to wither and die and never finding out why.

An exotic ghost to my realms of possibilities, that I fade to please, collapse into with ease, what adventures now may come to me.

The gentle face of my calm snowflake, she secures my volatile mind, my rose lying dead to the wind. Sharing our necessities, she plays up to me, in the valley of cinematic grandeur and a menagerie of tastes, drifting sweetly into my arms. Small kisses in the dim lamplight, thin lips endlessly playing in the shadow of the abbey, pressing bodies still innocently together, fingers interlocked, a collision of soft and coarse beings in the night. My slowest play, feelings evolving rather than raging wild, seemingly wanting her more and more. Yet I fear how different our souls are, is there really enough to say, to share, to be together? Or are we crudely filling spaces within each other, for the little time we have together?