Tear Stained T-Shirt

 

 

Sitting on the edge of the bed, toes grazing bare floorboards. Shoulders slumped, she stares at her reflection in the cracked second-hand mirror. A stranger gazes back at her; red-rimmed eyes and bed-crumpled hair, dishevelled, shell shocked and alien to her. Every inch of her skin prickles with forced indignation, each bone and muscle aching with weary disbelief. It hurts her to even take in gulps of air, lungs stinging each time she does so.

So many tangled thoughts spinning around in her mind, twisting confusion eating away at what was once a bright, vibrant character, all optimism now vanished. Soul in tatters, unravelling like a threadbare garment. Bleary eyes blink to gain some focus and again the stranger swirls into view.
“Who have I become?” she murmurs out loud, “Where did all this go wrong?…” The stranger’s lips move in sync with her own, no answers are returned.

Her face is wet, long trails of tears flow freely over her cheeks, nose and lips. Each tear contains undiluted sorrow and what little remains of her self belief and sanity. Her fingers knotted tightly together, wringing her hands as she begs for someone, anyone to hear her prayers and pleas for mercy. 

She watches as her tears make their tracks over her pale skin, burning as they go, slithering down her neck. She has no energy to even wipe them away, just lets them drip like acid rain from her eyes; their corrosion and destruction devouring her.
Her reflection watches also, intently seeing all she sees. Finally her eyes flicker downwards and watch as her spilled tears soak into the over-sized T-shirt she is wearing. The one which she put on the night before, to comfort her with the scent of him, as if the garment could hold her, the way his arms and his love used to.

The tears reach the end of their journey, like rivers and streams as they meet the ocean. All that’s left are the tell-tale salt water stains that seep into and settle on the fabric.
Maybe one day, when time has passed and the hurt has diminished, in a different time or place, he may take this very garment that adorns her broken body, take it from it’s drawer or hanger and wear it himself, but the secret of the tear stains will only ever be her own…..

Smash My Soul To Smitherines

Blue Eyes has left the building. All that’s left is the empty space on which she once stood.
The last strands of daylight fade, clouds finally oozing into one sinister black pool; like black ink in their texture. Smothering, enclosing, swamping out any sunlight or ray of hope.

Not one bright singular star shines in the night sky for her. No moonlight to map out a path of safety  for the weary girl to follow. Eyes that once shone with soulful joy and light, eyes like vivid ocean waves of blue are now slick with salt; red raw from a thousand emotions of burning hurt and destruction as they tumble from towers on high.

That fire and passion, the coursing heat and energy that once dwelled within her heart,  making her soar like a bird, totally invincible… Now replaced by cold, dark  fear. The stench of weakness and fatigue, smothers like a squalid rag pressed to her lips, stifling and squeezing each drop of life from her core. The sun that once shone, illuminating her aura for all to see has finally set in  putrid skies,  its last rays fighting against it’s inevitable consumption.
The spot where she once stood strong, a figure to behold, a body of empowerment is now a mere desolate platform, devoid of any life or meaning.

All that remains is the shadow of what once was, a rumour of her existence; a breath carried on the breeze, whispering of ancient myth and legend…
And as that wind whirls and scours over the barren plains, kicking up debris as it embarks upon a journey of destruction ,it finally comes to rest on her platform. It hesitates. All that remains are dark ashes and broken shells. Time picks back up from where it left off, for it waits for no man. The wind regains it’s turbulent energy, swooping and twisting as it funnels into a fearsome corkscrew. The ashes blow away and up far into the eye of the storm….
She has gone.

 

 

The Sweet Crusader

Sweet Crusader

 

Although I’m sat in aboard a train carriage, surrounded by strangers and blank faces; sterile and impersonal, my inner voice wants to scream just to release some tension.
My eyes catch a glimpse of my reflection in the glass. It is almost dark outside now and my eyes meet those of my reflection. I’m startled to see an image that closely resembles my mother gazing back at me. The same supple cheeky bones, petite nose, same determined expression in those fierce eyes. I get to wondering if my own mother had to make such difficult journeys, quests where her heart felt torn and twisted and her mind distorted and confused….

As fields and endless swathes of trees flash past my view, lines of street lights glow in the night sky like a trail left to guide me and show me the direction in which to travel. I could  curse out loud for there exists no map or directions for me to use upon the way. I travel on blindly, my physical destination is certain but emotionally I’m out on a limb.

I know and I’m certain I am not the only one on such a mission: to find salvation in warm and loving arms. Yet I know I am unique in my own right. I am a warrior, fighting battles that lead to inevitable wars, each day is a passing and fleeting victory until the next dawn breaks.
My shield and my armour are like the pure emotion I feel within my being. They alone provide the strength that keeps me fighting on til I overthrow all diversity. Fighting on until the time arrives and my plight ceases, oh how I yearn for that victorious hour…

I fumble for my pencil and the scrap of paper shoved deep in my pocket. As odd as this may sound to others, I feel the overwhelming desire to write this down as it happens, to record my journey word by word as it unfurls.  I need to capture this moment like a snapshot or a clue that will guide me through this dark night….