Swahili proverb
~
The wand was broken. So was the dream.
I saw you yesterday, in my sleep. And I was wondering if you saw me too. The sky was both dark and grey. And the ocean was moonlit clay. And you just stood there, with your back leaning against a poster of your forest. And for some of the most part, I was there, breaking in and out of the violet mist.
Whispers.
Stop playing with the wooden parts of your heart for they are forever carved with regret. This feast you never cease to enjoy is not the fruit of creation. It is but your own flesh. And this mirror is bleeding at the edge of your lips.
And those walls you break, they leave their shards in your throat. And all these stars you cannot move, they crumble to cosmic dust at the tip of your pen. The word is lost. The world is lost. And the only prize is loneliness. This broken bread is soaked in red. But you’ve lost all your color.
Now repress the rage. I said repress the rage. Please. Sometimes you have to skip a line so it doesn’t bend your rib cage. And sometimes you have to consider every other perspective just so you could forget your own. This twisted plot will rot away. And all my words will fade. I told you not to fall asleep. I told you not to dream. I told you not to believe in magic. But off you leapt. And off you fell. And every breath was a number. And little did you know that you were dialing death.
Perhaps light is to physical objects what emotion is to ideas. And you probably have no idea what you’re sure about. You might actually not be sure about anything. In any case, the instrument is infinitely sinful. And though this music you compose is a chess game of delusion, I’ll tell you the truth in the end.
I don’t know which part of you is standing at which gate. And I don’t know how your two main principles mate at the top of the pyramid. I don’t know how the soul carries the mind’s flight. And I don’t know how these auburn shrubs in my head will turn yellow. But I know that I can’t face the dark without you—that without you I am but fictional ash, intangibly dry. So come, Love.
Come.
Let us kill the faceless enemy.
Checkmate, purple implosion.
~
African proverb