Childish

Neglectful to Decision,
a person; Decision.
Is a male? Late forties? She doesn't know, she ignores.

Instead she paces and retraces her steps.

She expects, to hold your, their attention and to feel it,
grip it,
like a cold metal surface, the monkey bars.
Smooth and firm. Hers.

She expects, everything to be same, you must be able to repeat an experience.
To revisit with the same pleasant pulse as when you left and sink back into the same teeth marks, YOU left.
She thinks…she knows that would be comforting.
If You make a mark, an impression. How can it just brush off or blow away?
She isn’t a flower, an ephemeral figment that you soon come to shrug at. No. She isn’t.

But,
the teeth marks, the footprints are different, the coffee is bitter and everyone is tired.

Her hands are sweating, she can’t grab.
There is nothing to say this time.

Genuinely disappointed, she will laminate her tears. Self indulgent or not. She’ll rip them from the sockets and save them forever. That way at least something stays the same.

What she wants is not the same and if it was, maybe she’d hate it.

The draw backs

I can't sit still.
I can't untangle the day.
I can't sit still.

An old one.

Through the window,
there is not a slender heart.
It is loud, it throbs and strains red.

I would, I could drive you mad with the sounds that play within me.

Or.

Maybe.

They will only torment me.

I only know
that when you look at me
I will ask my heart to hush,
to hush and let you be...

I have sulked into a shape, bulky and cumbersome. There is no where to put me. What a waste of space. I have this reoccurring vision; it generally comes over me when I am cringing about something I've said. It is me smashing something. It is so loud and violent. You can scream much louder in your head then out loud. You can hit much harder too.

I am walking home, 1.30 am. All grey and blue, the sulks coat.
A man across the road yelled out: "You are a very fine young lady. Have a good morning, when you finally wake up, the sun shall shine on you"

A sign.

In addition to Day One

Perhaps people aren't really as curious as I would like to believe?

Elise, you are my inspiration of the morning.

Day One

He holds a stare like a gun. You can tell its heavy, loaded. I bet he likes his own company and forgets people watch him. I like his sense of recognition. Well, what I sense of his sense.
I refuse to believe people have poor memories.
If you don’t remember or worse pretend you don’t remember, you’re dead to me. He remembers, or at least he doesn’t pretend he has never laid eyes on me before. I’d like to know him.

I would like your help

Tell me what you think of "Self Sacrifice"

In all its guises.

I am opening a discussion, please join in.

Thanks,

Harriet

Torch Light

Illuminating within ourselves,
a simultaneous premonition.

We were both wrong,
now our bulbs burn brighter.