Melancholic mornings, and mournings.

primrose dawns and unwelcome visitors.
window sills and floating silences.
music filled ears and teary eyed images.
distant lights and amaranth skies.

melancholic mornings, and mournings.

so tell me you. you who is mocking me by hiding behind stacks of papers. why do you test me as you walk away from me, leaving questions and more questions while i sit here and shiver in the backseat of a car that has a driver who takes my money. but you keep walking to where the white flowers bloom and stand there awhile, as if to force me to contemplate what i would do if you were sitting right beside me with that flower in your hand.


i should not get personal. unfortunately there is you, whose insecurity moulds you into me as you look past my dark brown eyes and see something when there is really nothing. "misfit!" i cry. "maverick," you swoon.

i squint and look around your room filled with images on the wall, worked into an elaborate collage towards an impression of expressions. but hides cigarettes from me in the cupboard beside the bed because those dreadful things i cannot endure. who keeps red coloured dildos because i wear a lot of reds just because the colour accentuates how i must feel inside. bollocks woman. but writes voraciously and vivaciously, and eats words ferociously and fervently. but timidly lets her eyes run about my being and pretentiously fantasises about my skin. "rebel?" i say sarcastically. "revolutionary," she says smoothly.

i cannot stand alone. i lie back and think abou... "don't think about the things you fear. just be glad to be here," she says thoughtfully, studying me.

do not do that you. why read my thoughts. why spoil my mystery. have you not taken enough away from me. why do you like me. why do you know me. do not read me, and then say that i am silent all the time. i found you did i not? why am in your room? because i am silent and you know me just perfectly. it is enough. the enemy of my enemy, is still my enemy. but you, i do not know who you are. do not talk you. but please, look at me more. those eyes, and legs, are my temptations you.. you.. woman.

clenched teeth, and sitting upright on the bed away from you... how dare you reduce me to something whice envies you and crawls after you? how dare you? how dare you... put your hand on my thighs and rest your head upon my skin and kiss the side of my thigh and..

primrose dawns and unwelcome visitors..
window sills and floating silences..
music filled ears and teary eyed images..
distant lights and amaranth skies..

melancholic mornings, and mournings...