Knight stride

Mixed messages only clear when it suits.
Solely tired feet and a broken clock.
Callous words from a trained mouth. I obviously need more practice.

I noticed the clicking cease when the hands stopped.
Muffled sound, somehow luminous.
I woke up to it flashing. And I walked away from the sunrise with its heat all over me.
So easily tainted, I think it's gone.
I won't exhibit the screwed up sheets. I won't exhibit anything that screwed up that night.

I wish I'd been Delilah: that I'd cut it all off. Sticky secrets entwined between my fingers and your locks.
But there's an insignificant piece of evidence that you didn't spot.

Nocturne

Each string resonates.
Each forms a dissonance with the previous.

No phrasing, no key.
No thematic structure.

No Debussian beauty about it.

The twang almost perforates my drum. Inaudible but memorable.
Nevertheless: stinging.
No chance of a callous to shield the raw flesh. It's triturated.

Something bellowed from the clouds. A promising bellow, accompanied by an enlightening harmony.

* * *

Fantastically: a paragon; realistically: paradigmatic.

Beneath my dignity to climb a tree

All children, except one, grow up.
I put my faith in an awfully big adventure and have been held back by your hook.
You're lost and disturbed. It's uncomfortable.
And although you've boarded a ship, you will never disembark that island: your mental microcosm.

The many scrap books among heaps of shredded paper won't let you.
You can scar yourself with nostalgia eternally but your skin will grow whether your mind does or not.

You are static.
I'm jumping on the wind's back.