monophobia.

you find words in between a mannequin`s ribs,
christening it beautiful because it speaks of
lullabies that you know all too well: the world
around you is laughing under moonlight, but
you`re stuck indoors.  you sit on the cold
wooden floor, staring into the lively fire;
thoughts of regret and remorse circle around
your head.  sometimes you wonder if
painting the walls with rainbows will
make up for this black and white world,
or if you`re creating details out of nothing.
but, dearest, the day your world decides to
crumble down could seem so beautiful by
looking at it in different points of view.

imagine this: someone pulls the organs
from beneath your atmosphere, string by
string, unravelling scenery that no one
has ever touched before.

imagine this: thunderstorms swell and burst
overhead, sending letters to your heart
saying, "hey, miss, it`s time to gotosleep
good night!"

you attempt to rip these images from your
mind, but it seems they have already been
implanted; deeply carved in; never to be
erased.  the thought drives you mad,
almost psychotic, and a butterfly flutters
past the stained glass, mocking you.  ["there`s
no survival here; i won`t take your fucking
hand."]  disgust is then spread across your
face, because this is the death of
pretty things.

you turn to read the clock, 11:11, make a
fucking wish sweetheart.  the only thing is,
all your wishes and dreams had already
came true, but they quickly disappeared,
almost enough to feel whiplash.

[we`re not talking about cascading
dandelions and kaleidoscope burnt eyes
that spill beauty on to canvases.  we`re
talking about nothing; you`re
a little bit afraid to speak up.]

you slowly collapse to the floor, emotions
spouting out of you like a broken hydrant,
and nobody even gives a damn about the
noise.  why can`t we turn back time, you
say.  why can`t we return to the days with
no worries or doubts?

        how do you live when
          you don`t know what to live for?