Runner

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A moment
frozen
crystallized in time
one of a multitude

Icy eyes
what have you seen?
Blue and cold
lost passions, hidden possibilities

A face 
you were smooth
once
before the withering storm

We are all blank canvasses
waiting for life to fill us
waiting to die

The rain falls
carrying with it
all those moments
all those memories

Lost 
once our eyes close
Gone
without an echo

Who are you?
Did anyone ever really know?

© M. A.
29.05.2018

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Outsider

I don’t know how old I was, when I first became  aware of the bubble.

Crouched in a hollow darkness, I always felt as if I was enclosed in a sphere of shadows. A liquid-like transparent force creating a barrier between me and the rest of the world. In slow motion, I moved within it, out of sync with every one else. Almost matching… almost, but not quite.

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Maybe it was the terror, that harsh violent presence which made me stutter and hesitate, which first created the circular protective barrier. Or maybe it was the cruel indifferent light reflecting off everyone else which first brought it into being. For sure, my awareness of it only strengthened it. My shield. My cage.

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For a time, I believed it had gone. Disappeared with a pop. Finished. For a time, I thought I was here, un-veiled, un-masked, just like everybody else.

Of course, I was wrong.

My bubble is still here. It is dark, dank, comforting. Like an old musty blanket I can clutch around me and slap over my eyes whenever I see something which should not be. I am still here, in a way. But really, I am not. Because I do not want to be. I am not with you. I am not with anyone. And no one is with me. No one looks at me. No one wants to.

In the end, the bubble does not make that much of a difference after all.

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Insomnia

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I cannot save you
While the blood rages and the heart moans
I cannot save you
As you look askance at the twisted vines
I cannot save you
Your gaze is too suspicious, your mind is too old

Let go
Of all those moments of rank belittilement
Let go
The gnashing thunder within your veins
Let go
Those tears of madness you are still hiding

You know
They clamor ever hungry for reprisal
You know
Your violent flame is roaring for more
You know
This is the reason why sleep flees

And yet
The pounding surf cannot be silent
And yet
That vortex of hate will not be still
And yet
Your eyes will always spit blood and flame

And that, is why
I cannot save you
Unless you save yourself
And dream

© M_Moonsong

Before Tea Time

She had stolen mother’s lipstick. Her crimson gash of a mouth was stretched in a satisfied smirk. Her dirty bitten finger-nailed hands opened and closed slightly as she held D. My treasure. My hope. My friend.

I asked her to let her go.
First, I asked her softly. Tears hidden. Lips rubbery.
Second, I asked her mockingly. Hands behind my back. Flawless syntax.
Third, I asked her forcefully. Cheeks cherry with rage. Feet shuffling.

She only laughed.

I rushed at her and it was over suddenly. That bubble gum face disappearing down the stairs. The surprisingly tepid thump as she hit the bottom. Those clutching hands, broken, lifeless under a twisted back.

I looked at Dolly. Dolly looked at me. A wave of love and compassion stole over me. Poor dear had her hair all plastered to her head. Time for some tidying up.doll

© Melisande Moonsong

This is a quick piece of flash fiction I wrote for the ‘Ad Hoc Fiction Competition‘. Don’t really expect to win anything, but it was fun to do.

Lohri – Another aspect of Yule

I did not write about Yule last December, basically because everyone else did. We all know what Yule is – it is a celebration of life which takes place during the longest night of the year. When the year is at its coldest and the earth is the furthest away from the sun, which physically takes place on the 21st of December – the Winter Solstice, when the Goddess brings forth the God in darkness, as a sign that from now on, all will be life again.

It is a festival of the sun, which is present in its absence. It is a time of joy amid the terror. A time to remember what we have, when it all seems so distant and far away.

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I did not write about Yule, but now I wish to at least mention the Festival of Lohri, which takes place in India today, on the 13th of January. Lohri is another manifestation of Yule, celebrated in a Northern region of India. People come out of their homes to celebrate their winter crops, of which the main one is wheat. They celebrate the promise of what is to come. Renewed life.

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In the evening, with the setting of the sun, huge bonfires are lit and the people dance and sing around them, praying for abundance and prosperity. Lohri celebrates fertility and the joy of life.

As we move closer to the feast of the Goddess Eostre, who with her eggs and hares, symbols of fertility, leads us to the Spring Equinox, we sing in joy and are grateful for the life, the love, and the beauty which surrounds us. We let go of the ugliness and minutiae which clog us down everyday, and bask in the light of those who came before.

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She of the Venomenous Name

Smear it over me, let me bathe in it
Tip my breasts with gobs of scarlet heat
My hands mold and shape cavernous monsters of hatred
My tongue licks it up in a tense explosion of lust

She gnaws at me from the inside
this invisible creature inside my head,
prodding and prying at my weakest spots
scurrying silently in the hard shiny darkness

Always, she is present
eroding away at the maggoty substance of my brain
cheering on the neverending cacophony of shadows
thwarted and twisted by the past

Still, I listen
always unsure whether she be friend or foe
although her words, like twinkling shards, hurt
they are always true after all

She is the ME that can never be forgotten
the ME that can never be forgiven
I have always known her secret name
always been afraid of earning her notice

Her gaze gleams like black oil on a mirror
Grinning teeth smirking at every inconsistency
Paranoid and succulent she awaits for a pause,
a moment, a single excuse to sing her banshee lament

I thank her sometimes, for opening my eyes,
at others I wonder if she merely ripped new ones
hungry for blood she awaits, never sleeping
my Goddess, my lover, my sister in the blood

Elizabeth

© M.M