Betwixt These Lights...

Opals, these opals of such vibrancy I see, how! 'tis my fascination - ah! that so unaware you remain of the same. Yonder, see! yonder lies a line so thin, so thin of mist as figure I with this mind of mine; must you behold this elixir on ye sky above, lest am I rendered - in a way am I so lone an acquaintance with - blind.

I see her, can I see her indeed, and so clear a visage she wears, no facade to be sought, yet, liars are they all - must I be careful; a muse of mine is she, a skin so tender that shiver my fingers to caress them merely, but no artist am I - this hotchpotch of lights - ah! keeping me warm is my suspicion at night.

"Merely feet, ah! five feet, nay! are they feet of eight" , so as utter I amidst the quiet of the else's slumber, for so seldom are these voices tired. Indeed, just these feet to the tile of my privacy, but so invincible a reluctance I seek as lays my body so petrified on this bed so unkempt. A herald do I not visualise conjuring, but 'tis repulsive still - alas! such dilemma for me to kill; heard I from one who abutted me on ye chair of mine the day recall I now from a memory not too distant to me, was it nothing like this. Alas! am I hurled into perdition that have I been fancying a dance bereft of a hand in what have I come conceiving hitherto - such palpable a bliss; and must I beseech your ears my love, for 'tis nice to be heard than to be observed for is this insanity have I to display, but are these bruises so invisible to ye eyes of any soul do I not reside in the body of, a scream hurled at thin air, but remains this cacophony merely in my Claire. Wonder I if 'twere a possibility - you beholding ye mess so incorrigible, composing ye core of my mind evermore; wonder I if could I make an eye behold what beholds my eye from a body would I not own; and wonder I a little more if 'tis another of those delusions can I escape no longer.

Find I myself rambling. Nay! must you not mistake my ramble for this predilection of mine, but saunter I anyway as so overwhelmed am I with this blood on my bathroom floor, rustle of those leaves on ye lawn of my neighbour, and colors of red, green, and yellow all in this ambience of mine that reckless is me gait now; you see smiles, may you know aware am I of them too; you hear them laughing, and so aware am I of the same that implore I for deafness, pacing to doors away from this floor, for is must be rendered unseen - my parlance. Indeed, amidst this violet of the lavender you wear Claire, 'beautiful' utters my tongue, but all behold my eyes is mayhem.