We are the framed and grey-between...
Lifting our wrists to shake our glass chains,
oh so prettily they sparkle upon our arms...
He told me they looked like diamonds,
thousands of diamonds scattered over my skin...
If only they weren't so jagged,
If only they hadn't cut paths through us at night...
because the diamonds move,
trail their broken edges through the hidden parts of us...
Are you scared yet?
I'm not either...
I'm freezing,
the cold grows larger and blacker and vaster...
Once I was at a beach,
and the only illumination was a distant lighthouse...
and the crashing of the waves,
creating static...
and I saw something unfurl in the dark,
made from particles and shifting...
and stretching towards me,
now I wonder...
if it wasn't both the sea and Her that broke me,
and yet the sea that recreated me...
How can something both destroy and heal?
I can hear it...
Like a faint buzz or static in my left ear,
always moving...
Can you hear it?
It's the sand...
sifting through the slender path between two glass spheres,
sifting away our minutes...
Only I learnt,
that eternity and Heaven is no time...
I wish I could go back to limbo,
where I held more hours than panic or ending...
We swim,
way down deep...
to touch the broken land,
Beneath us...
Step away from yourself,
don't be afraid...
to listen to the silence,
to wait out the night...
to dance the wrong way,
to not feel...
to feel,
to embrace what is wrong and maybe cold and lonely and yet....
there is a certain wakefulness and life to that,
isn't there Scar?
Isn't there friend?
If death is what awaits...
then we run to the fear,
we run and scream in its' face...
or perhaps we come to it gladly,
because in the end...
it is one of the only ones that so ever does want to embrace you,
to take us in its' sweet ferocity...
cold and forget,
what light awaits...
when the darkness is like acid,
burning away ninety-five percent of your foundations...
before you even realize how greatly you have already collapsed,
and...
why fix?
Why fix...
what doesn't want...
to be fixed,
what won't let...
be fixed,
we won't.
A crow flew through the eves of my head the other day...
and it whispered something to me,
'See, seeee...?
We are the catastrophe.'
He's hidden in my pocket now...
protecting my lungs,
protecting my word...
and every so often he puts on my eyes,
and flies me around the world...
we travelled through tunnel's,
and we listened to the language of kings...
we broke into fort Knox,
just to laugh over their heads...
we stole the worlds most valuable diamond,
and charted the night skies from the tree tops...
we spied a small river,
that ended at a secret pool...
and in its' depths we gazed,
and gazed...
and saw where we went wrong,
we woke up the sleeping doll...
that stumbles along in her chains of glass,
and we tore back her masks...
and shattered holes amidst the glass,
we brought her labyrinth burning down...
and sealed its' grave with stone and sound,
so that no more the claws would hold her tight...
and sleep would welcome her at night,
till when we wake again...
and upon a gentle grass crest I sit,
to watch an eternity of warm nights go by...
in Haven unto we step.
So dear creatures....
Miss Scarlett has been swept up in a moving, drifting chaos of no-time...and I miss writing more than ever because of it. Do you know this agitation...? Like a burn, burn, burning or itch. Write now. Write now. Write now. Life however, seems to insist on no such thing.
To write...it seems I must choose between it or the world, to be melodramatic.
Why indeed not be melodramatic? It feels like melodrama's stepping back into the spotlight again...and boy have we missed it. I mean, be honest with yourself, you can't beat a really, oh-so-terribly-evil-and-fabulous-because-of-it bad guy. A melodramatic bad guy.
Sorry to ramble, and I hope your nights aren't too chaotic...but peaceful perhaps.
Much Love,
Miss CLScarlett xx
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