TheCourtRose

We've never met, you and I but I have your silver sewing scissors and a wooden spool of thread A nightmare you didn't remember split your personality in two It clasped your hands around bottles of liquor and kept that smile plastered to your face You woke the household during your spells, when you couldn't sleep at night Mary, Mary, quite contrary- How did your garden grow? You were never there to tend the gardenias I cut knots away with your silver scissors and wonder what your world would have been like in a different time and place Maybe they would have seen you were sick around the eyes, and caught your demise early I would be different had I known you- had you lived to tell your tale from sane lips We could have tended the gardenias together, because no straight jacket would have caught your arms, and the empty wooden spool would not be rolling around in the bottom of my drawer

The devil's train rode by last night, past my window and on through the dark I started from a stupor with sweat on my brow, my heart racing longing desperately to fling open my window and call out for him to stop The devil is not quiet or tricky, did not slink into my dreams or whisper in my ear He barreled through my backyard on tracks made of bone He laughed wildly, yelling for more steam Thrashing about in my bed, discontent ate away at my soul As I sat there dripping with indecision- his chaotic cries sang in my blood, wanting me to follow I knew that once I boarded the devil's train I'd never step off again His screams would echo my own until my bones were laid in the ground I put my pillow over my ears until the yearning faded Not for the first time I wondered if it was a coward's choice to stay behind I can sleep tonight but I dream of riding through the darkness with the wind in my hair

It was just a moment with toes dug into the grass and head tilted towards the sunshine My jeans fit exactly right, and my stomach was only just-so full, listening to music only I enjoy It was a moment without anxiety, worry or the chronic self-loathing It was It existed and I was a part of it, breathing into it and through it A miracle, albeit a small one Nothing had changed, no huge, sweeping wind had carried me away from my troubles No money was needed, no jewels, no lovers, no friends Just me, inside myself and content for a thread of time, balanced on top of my life, accepting my place within it- instead of floundering My voice, often laying dormant under the demands of others, or a plague of worry, was shining and clear I miss my voice But now I know it's still here, because I finally took one moment to breathe and stand still My voice is still here I can hear it