Frozen in his image

He never had a way with words
Couldn't warm people's hearths with a wry smile and flick of the tongue
He in fact often had an awkwardness that made my skin crawl
That's because I could feel those little militant bugs laying down the scales of my sleepwalking self
Those insects that always arrive to carry out this ritual as the days shed away like skin
And the solid demeanour I practice begins to thaw
I hated him because in him I saw my zombified self and it made me shudder
Surely by some law of environmental forces it is he who made me this way
IT IS HIS FAULT
The anger and pain that I hold inside a little jar
Which I do not even feel deserving to say I keep
As surely they will accuse me of never having tasted the bitter jam of grief
But maybe I'm wrong
And nobody actually cares like they never do
When you feel eyes on you like an awful itch
But you look to find that people's glares are in fact attached to the air and not you.
But I've gone on a tangent haven't I
As I always do
I was saying that I hated him
But then I don't
My principles tell me I don't
Because my principles tell me that I hate no-one
Even though I sometimes hate myself
To be honest I'm rather tired
I often get tired like this
Maybe that's why I stay indoors so my slumber coffin is never too far away
But I do give an offering to the gods everyday
An offering of brilliant light and warmth that makes the coldest fingers feel like they never parted from the suns embrace
A glimmer that twinkles a thousand times in the turquoise galaxy of the sea
Of which studs onto your heart to feel a twang of serene contentment even when you've come back from that dreamlike scape
This gem I offer to those gods
In return for the guarantee that I can feel so very still
That no ripple be born of the earth as to force me to move one toe
That my face will be porcelain that doesn't crease
But even so the edges of the eyes trickle down and down like stagnant sap as the days drip like blood from a nose
Blood from a nose
And grey toes
Closed blinds
And peeking into the light
Hangover caused by the alcohol of insomnia
Staying in the drowsy drunken state
Staying in.

He's sick

He's sick
And I'm a selfish bitch
For thinking my time is my own
But pray argue with the thing that demands I give it all my minutes
That I must confine to my room to carry out its bidding
Of thinking thoughts that go around and around
But what an excuse
To deem an invisible creature
The perpetrator of your squalid ways
Surely you can just blink and it will go away
Or some wishing or willing will do
How dare you even imply that it is a being that need be argued with
How dare you
Poor insignificant child
But surely whilst you were in your coop
Thinking of how you could do great things with your many tomorrows
Could you not also think how he might not be here.