Leeches and Lowly Worms

Leeches and lowly worms oozing down her cottage window. Appalled she tries to fend off the vision, but the filth just keeps on coming, hard. So she shuts her eyes.

She wanders the way she learned from the chief, with her inner eye like a shield, on tiptoes. Feeling like a tattered doll stitched with demon seams. But the reflection in the window is just a teenage girl, and once again she sits relieved.

She wanders the way she learned from the chief, with her inner eye like a shield, on tiptoes. Feeling like a tattered doll stitched with demon seams. But the reflection in the window is just a teenage girl, and once again she sits relieved. Not someone altogether make-believe.

The Office Cockerel

Punch the clock on another day of endless pain. On another hateful dreary day, of rearranging windows on a monochrome display. To think that this could set her straight, hiding from the sun in this fifteen storied red-brick hive where insects pound the blinds.

Carpeted corridors connecting cubical courters. Fluorescent presentations light the conference stage. Mandatory morning meetings, carry on sleeping; discard a diluted conclusion by noon.

A feather crashes to the floor, the clandestine office cockerel slips through the door.

Charlotte? he drools with a glance at her name tag, How Sweet. You'll do me a favor right here by the desk on your knees. Palming the carpet, she chances upon a pencil left on the floor. Draws a perfect arc to his cheek as he's shooting to score. A siren... A siren. Good morning to white walls, treatment in overalls. Good morning curative halls.

Sabbatical

Free from the confines of a wide open world, she saunters along the limestone wall; her guardian golem silent and gaunt. She learns that one of the other guests can climb the golem shoulders, and escape. He works in the low house by the pool and the bean sprouts; laundry land, gentle hands, ochre tanned summer man. And Charlotte spills milk on her gowns

Secluded in the east wing in a pale quiet room, she tires of the company of heroes posthume, and the fox in the caramel costume.

She pinches her cheeks, combs out her tangled hair, waits for the garden hour, and sprints down the stairs. She makes for the low house by the pool and the bean sprouts; laundry land, gentle hands, ochre tanned summer man, with a warm welcoming smile.

Escape

Gingerly balancing on Mathias' shoulders, heaving herself up on top of the wall. Avoiding the eyes of the whitecoat beholders, she pulls up her lover beside her. They jump into the night, and find themselves free. Free!

I'll show you the real world, my cooky little demon doll. My friends are enlightened and I know they will love you. Lights, so many lights, rushing by the tinted windows. The xenon angels of the big big big big city. See the lines forming outside neon light discoteques. Crystal gowns, silvery suits on pitch black turtlenecks.

They go to where anything goes. Where everyone's an artist, or a poet, or a writer, or a dancer, or an actor, or drunk or stoned, just in it for the show.

And it seems like everyone knows, that weirdness is a costume, like a funny hat or a fancy coat. And with all these home-extracted alkaloids, everyone's expected to be paranoid.

Customer of Culture

So, Charlotte has connected with a customer of culture, wearing a slightly feverish smile. Accepting a tall glass from a tray on a trolley, that is flaunting intestinal bile.

Attentive to spirits in human disguise. But bubbles make her bubbly, less attuned to the crowd. Approached by a woman with a face like a glove, with legs like a goat. Cigarettes, too much lipstick, probably aching down south. Reeking of peppermint from a minuscule mouth, o here goes:

O my you're a wild girl, so quaint and yet wonderful. You must be the one Mathias has mentioned with awe. So sweet and so pretty and so clearly not of this world, you must think we're all disgustingly flawed.

Mother

Mother, please come and get me, I followed my heart when my head was lost. Mother, the worms have turned into snakes. Mother, start up your engine, come retrieve my body, my mind is destroyed. I'm in a phone booth at the intersection of the verge and the void.

Dear child what are we to do with you? If only you could tell us what you feel.

Charlotte, We will come and get you, bring you home and put you in bed. Charlotte, soon you'll be safe again. Charlotte, we'll talk to the doctors, reason it out and put things straight. Don't you run away. Stay where you are and wait.

Dear child what are we to do with you? If only you could tell us what you feel.

Back to The Hearth

The feel of gravel under her feet underlines the comfort in coming home. From the cool evening fragrance of flowerbeds, to the sound of unlocking the door, and the stern judging eyes from the faces on the walls, as she puts down her bag in the hall.

Oh the window's clean transparent beauty queen. Watches her smiling father ceremoneously cut the meat. From the latest on her childhood friends, through anecdotes that never end, to his chablis induced absolute truth; that here, as in the heaven above, The universal answer to everything is love.

Dream

Afterwards... she falls asleep in her childhood bed. She dreams of a table laid with fruit and cakes, rotting grapes and human steak. A man so tall he breaks. In agony, she starts to scream at the torsoid shape. The monster bares its teeth and beckons her to join the feast, by offering the first bite of its severed feet.

There is hope for your soul here in the well of dreams. Let yourself go wander down this path with me.

Leeches and lowly worms, pushing through the creaking floorboards. Appalled she curls up on the bedspread, and begs on her father to open the door.

The Pill

You'll be better as soon as you take the pill. The whole world will seem right, when you take the pill. You can go back to sleep, when you take the pill. A Deep deep sleep. The pill.

Charlotte

She was wary from the start. Silent and dodgy she kept to the back of the classroom. She looked tired, like she was carrying a weight. On our date, she broke down crying in the middle of an innocent joke.

She pushed me up against the wall. Trembling, she tore at me, violently dragged me down the hall. Out of sight by the lockers, she smiled.

Tears, she said. Unbuttoned her shirt and let it fall to the floor

So pale, so porcelain frail. Quite the flawless thing. Her reception's velvet fire was like the wonders of a dream, nursing my burning release. Like something altogether make-believe.

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