Act II
dear diary, a dream, a secret and something in between.
In times of darkness, eat cake and turn it into art. That determined part of me that doesnt rest decided to throw a party and invited many guests. A ball, a celebration, a ritualised descent. Attention, whore - reclaim your space amongst us men and set her free.
There is someone missing, the hairs on the back of my neck keep whispering to me, not to forget an absence. I wonder if they’ll give up soon, rest their tired heads against my skin, but I digress.
A dramatic disintegration of self, a shedding of several layers of who I thought I needed to be, including Red Madonna and Lady Grace and all the other altered egos doing their best to keep me safe. What an army of stunning personalities, all dressed up with nowhere to go. Their ghosts are drifting through the hallways, knocking pictures off the walls. They whisper to me from behind the veil, shadows spread across my face, lips stained the dark brownish-red of blood on skin paler than the moon. Of course I had to give them names.
When there’s nothing left but dust, what immortal flames rise out of powdered ashes? A mask, a dance, this whole elaborate plot, drop down to your knees and pray for me, I am not who I thought I was. The mirror’s blinding reflection is blinking in my iris, buried deep amongst the moss, a drop of possibility.
Poetic licence to keep both arms outstretched, don’t come too close or you will see the cracks, a tear that froze upon my cheek, never to meet the tip of my tongue, torn out and sworn to silence. I will speak no truths from here on in, only smoke and trickery until the tea party finally strikes 2. A fool amongst us, in our midst, to be saved with a kiss.
Not me. Not me.
No redemption to be found, no testimonial confession, no sins to be forgiven, this is heaven. And you will never know.
Take the mist into your hands, squeeze tightly and turn thrice around the pivot, a mystery remains forever unknown, untold. Nonsense is our only hope. Hope was out late last night, I found her sleeping by the gate, I didn’t want to wake her. Now she’s gone. Without the ancient wisdom of a hag none of us are safe.
Age well my dear, we’ll need you in good time and a good time will not be rushed.
This nostaliga’s getting old, there’s moth holes in the curtains. 3 years ago I realised nothing is ever certain. An act, a show, a puppet on a string. Ceremoniously becoming, reborn, a second wind. The bird crows in the distance, this isn’t going to be pretty. A prophecy, your soft face will crumble, a pie they call it humble, to be eaten all alone at 3 minuets after midnight, swallow whole bites by flickering candle light, don’t choke.
When power is amiss and you doubt if you’ll get through this, wait until the teeth fall out and begin again. A curse. A jest. I’m joking. Here’s hoping, back for more. Adore her, adorn her, kiss her pretty lips and hope to die. Here’s hoping, out the door. Adorenment became a costume, secrets behind the frills. After all you just want love. Danger, danger, don’t fall for it. Danger, danger, don’t fall for it. Blood streams over rocks, you’ll slip and fall. don’t fall.