I am drawing the curtains open, I swear. There are still a few images in the distance that inspire warmth. I will frame them with lace, never moving my gaze away. We will fetch a pail of water together, and tend to the thirsty daffodils. The comfort inside is inaudible, but that means nothing. It cannot be that every single thing has to produce noise.
I am catching my breath, I swear. I rest on four-leaf clovers. There is a young girl seeking one, and the words on my tongue can make her happy. I am not that nice yet. She has a large pocket where it would be placed, if only I would stand up. This cruelty makes me feel powerful. My shovel digs graves, where I kick in small hope. My smile is worth her disappointment.
I am saying my prayers, I swear. Oh father, oh son. If you are not doing anything with your nails, I will need them to hang my frames. And, is it true Lucifer likes it down on Hollywood Blvd., or does he find the desperation suffocating? Anyway, anyhow, it is still cold here. Lend me your sweater, and I promise it will be returned. I will even wash it, since I do need to busy myself, and it is the polite thing to do.
A new year brings familiar complications. I have these dreams, never anything short of nebulous cryptographs. They are the thick, hostile, Black Forest. Though the rolling fog raises and carries me to such impressive heights, I cannot find the meaning. The silence pounds away at me, following me to the bottom of the lake, where I find the pressure pushing into my skull. I am oh-so-tired of impulsive acts, that bring about unnecessary strife. Rip out my claws, file down my fangs, break my legs in half. If all things must come to an end, then let the same be true of my aggression, my pain. Add my virtues, count every merciful act. I deserve this. Dear god, I have earned this. Hold me up by my red hair, and help me walk upright.
High waves seem out of my reach and beyond my control. He says, say a prayer for me. And I do. She says, says a prayer for me. And I do. Somehow I forget to recite one for myself. Blame a pride I am obsessed with. Blame a tongue that has a way of becoming heavy, when it matters that words be spoken. Blame a carnivorous wolf that gnaws away at a brain that once held pretty thoughts. I have made such a habit of being off the line.