Talking to Myself

The Darkness breaks with the calm voice.

‘Is it okay, I guess it is. Or maybe not, either way, they’ll rot. So here is a piece, of some skin from under my sleeve. I’ve been lurking around out in the streets, In the nights on my feet. And looking for some slice of silence, to listen to the sky. Searching for the perfect corner, maybe to dry. Dry out these feelings, out in the silence, out in the dark somewhere in the rundown park. I’ve been listening, hearing the sounds, the crisps of calms, and chills of dawns. Maybe the sounds, of breaking symmetry, of cracking geometry or maybe they’re just screams, of falling doves. Well, I am not sure, but they sure must be right, how can they be wrong; They’re Strong.

And so I carry on, Listening along, singing songs and marching on. So Maybe one day, I’ll find someplace to sit and think that I did my best. Not today, but one day; for sure.’

‘Who are you? What are you saying?’ I say. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I am. A song. A painting maybe, strokes of colorless shades the one that never fades. The rhyme they say, far too easy to play. Maybe I am, too easy to sing since I’ve lost my wings. They tore them down and took me underage. Well, I am the shades of grey, but from a sexless day.

What Am I saying. I don’t know, But does it matter; Its all just blabber, the constant ticking, unstoppable urge, the colors of emotions that never merge. I speak my heart, or my heart speaks, I don’t know; they say I am a freak. They say I’m drunk, well maybe I am. On the constant fatigues, unattended leaks wasted weeks on the way she speaks; On the frightening struggles, frowning eyes, truthful lies, mourning winters of the growling world; Or maybe on just alcohol.

I’ve been visiting for quite some time. To take my crafts, to save my drafts. They’re all gone, gone with the winds; flew away like notes in synth. I want them back, they’re my parts, my body parts whom I need to survive without whom I’ll die. I need my legs, my eyes my nails, my ears my bones, my synth my tones.’

I remain silent. Maybe saying nothing would be better in this case.

‘You see,’ again ‘This is what it is, and it’ll always be. Your silence and my words, your ease, and my lurks. I’ll roam at night, you work in daylight; And Whatever you do, I’ll wait for you.

And Maybe one day, I’ll find someplace in you to solace. and I’ll dry to you my emotions, fly you through my commotions and maybe you’ll see what you mean to me.

And finally after years, I’ll be you, and you’ll be me.’