Ivy

Ivy's opinions, part II
2002-05-31 21:01:48 (UTC)

Sleep

I sleep when I am at the point of exhaustion and death.
When my head hits the pillow, the silence is deafening and
cruel. You run through my mind a million times before when
I no longer have the energy to say, “enough!” But you slip
in and stay.
Scenarios play themselves, Shakespearean fashion for the
drama queen that I am, complete with unrequited love and
amours that transcend the heavens above. I peer through the
dark and see Lady Day grinning at me and for that quick
moment, I forget the beautiful torch ballads and am simply
terrified at the ugliness that dark shadows bring to her
life-hardened face so I open the door to the little
bathroom and let the light’s rays filter to my room and
everything is well again.

Last night, however:

I sat on the porch numb, smoking and wondering when the
sweat peas will bloom this Spring. I listened to the birds
in the trees, the squirrels run from branch to leafy branch
and seed kernels drop into the ground. The clarity was
amazing. Tiny noises that would not have been heard during
the day were buzzing everywhere. I pulled my legs to my
chest and thought about “The End, Part II” and how it went
into the fucking abyss because of nonchalance and the sheer
pettiness that sums up you and I. I sat there until the
darkness crept up on the side of the house and porch boards
and wondered whether or not it’s time to go in and call it
a night. Instead, I pulled another cigarette from the box:
painfully slow, maybe because I didn’t know what I was
doing or just didn’t care. Smoking is not rocket science
and the last thing I need in this world is to work my
cranium overtime when I’ve over analyzed every situation,
every turn and smile, small talks and conversations to the
point of bludgeoning it over the head.

I wallowed in the sweet comfort of darkness, cradling my
fragile ego in her blanket of nothing. Only then did I get
up to open the door into the old cottage and slept the
night away.




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