The Nightshade Princess
old, old bones
There is a tiredness in me, an exhaustion that has
gone beyond my body. It seeps like a black oil into my
blood and though my being. My soul is heavy with it. I
wake and I am tired... the artificial light becomes grey
and the world ripples around me like a terrile ocean. It's
like drowning yet being unable to die, just lying there in
frigid waters as dark as dried blood that press into you
and into your soul. I am bruised beneath my flesh, beyond
my bones. The weariness has seeped into me... made its
sombre home in the very marrow of those bones. Where there
isn't coldness, there is numbness, and where that fails
there is pain. I feel as though I have run the marathon,
jumped through all the hoops I saw when I began, and now,
my body sore and exhausted, I turn toward the finish line
to find that it does not exist... that there are so many
more miles, so many more hurdles.
I feel cleaner when I bleed, when there is blood
around me to warm the grey and cold flesh. That red life
burns in my veins, as if it were poison. If only it were!
I turn and see the skeletons at my door. My teachers are
afraid for me, they worry. Someone found the cuts on my
wrist a few weeks ago. Someone knew, someone knows. My
old acting teacher now knows how I have fallen. I try to
hide it but I can see the sadness reflected in their eyes.
I'm dancing again, jumping though mindless hoops like a
circus animal for them all. I put on my mask of quiet ways
to hide this all, but it's cracking and falling off of me,
though I struggle to glue it back, to hide the
decay. "It's just like painting over dirt" in the words of
Type O Negative. I fail I fail I fail. I fail I bleed I
cry I wish and I scream and no one hears and no one WILL
hear and HE cares and HE is my only tie with this world.
I spent my day in contemplation of rest. I could keep
my mind on no other subject, even my books could not reach
me on "Egg Rock" where I stood (has anyone read Sylvia
Plath? I didn't think so...) I thought of how soothing it
could be to be re-united with the elements again, return to
mother's womb, the soft, dark, moist earth.
I am beaten down by the deadlines and the constant
stream of bullshit I am fed constantly... I am beaten
until I cannot rise and cannot care, and the deadlines and
abuse roll over me as the ocean over a dead shell on the
beach. My love is my only tie to this world, this human
world of torture and ice and cold, cold steel. Oh, but for
him I would surely perish...