My Heart on a Seesaw

I’m listening to what is arguably (amongst a group of fools) one of the greatest pieces of music ever. Only the most rebarbative of ignoramuses would have anything to say otherwise. This is music crafted by Gods and delivered to us through the tacky medium of the recording industry. I am privileged and honored to bear witness to these dulcet tones and moving play of sounds. In your grand classical symphonies, you hear the music play with your ears, with your senses – they toy with your expectations and lure you into a game that will leave you drowning in tears of utter ecstasy. This surpasses even those unforgettable pieces.

I offer this soul on a platter to anyone who would dissect it for personal pleasure. Take it and do with it what you will for it is of no use to me. Not now. Feed on the tragedy that I create in the space of this moment. Vicariously, I live while the whole world dies … for some reason that phrase haunts my consciousness.

There’s that point – you’re on the road. In otherwise total darkness, you sit under a bright lamp-post that shines with pride. Stands tall and firm against the flood of nothingness. But no … I’m not sitting with pride upon this roadside. I’m hunched over. Once again. Huddled, trying to fight the shivers that run through my bones. Resisting the urge to look over my shoulder to investigate the strange, sudden sounds around me. The vulgar noises that pierce that pure silence that is in charge.

The reason I huddle is because I’m tired of trying in the daylight. I grow weary every day. And then, sometimes, I gain hope – I try. I reach out and touch the sky. And fall back down again. The cycle repeats itself so many times – why the fuck does one even bother trying. Tangled in a cryptic web of my own creation, all that’s left to do is lose myself in the music. In the chaotic sounds formulated for ears holier than mine.

Beneath stacks of white. In the looming shadows of towers that block out the unforgiving sun, I wait. Garbed in clothes of ancient and historic value, no longer, I query. I scream, shout and cry yet again. These heavens – they don’t listen. The words fall upon deaf ears without a heart or a soul. Much like my own. I wouldn’t listen if I were in their grandiose shoes. Slippers. Socks. Footwear.

Your poisoned silence leaves much to be desired in the way of Justice. The thorns littered among your words rip painful tears into my being. What I believe and what I think I know. I don’t know why I ever think it could be any other way. Well, I know why – because that’s what I have to believe, having been on this road for so long. And why? Were there no other paths? Were all the other roads torn down, broken by the neverending footfall of the madding crowds? Or was I too proud to follow a way that had been tread by others. So determined to paint my own track. At every turn.

I ask for a moment of your time. Like these moments that I have snatched from you whilst you read this treatise on unfocused lamentation. There is too much beauty that lies in the darkened depths of the thoughts that produce this. Too much beauty in hopes and dreams and expressions. The words are all I have, but I am no conductor of their kind. Merely an usher. An unnecessary cog in the machine – part of the prelude to the real thing.

The daylight dims leaving cold fluorescence.
Difficult to see you in this light …
Please forgive this selfish question – what am I to say to all these ghouls tonight?

Now it’s time for me to let you go.

Till next the words flow convulsively through the brain stem.