Friday, May 27, 2011

Moon Over Goldsboro

Memories of passion. Memories of loneliness. They clash and stir and bend, until they mix into a fine green, green powder overlay that everyone is destined to one day immerse themselves into. The soft and soothing comfort of bed sheets. The hard and cold roughness of grassy fields. They are both inside of my head and yet they are drifting away, as if I'm losing all of her.

One moment I'm jumping a fence and the next I'm pushing against her, panting and sweating and then I'm back to the cold outside where I'm lurking under the moon, alone and frightened. I can feel sunlight prickling against the back of my neck and yet I feel the moonlight push against my face.

I grab the grass and the soil as I feel her fingernails dig into my back. Tears roll down my face as my chest heaves up and down and the green rolls over me. Her red hair tickles my cheeks while the grass pokes against my body. I breathe in, breathe out. Wild sage growing in the weeds.

Next thing I know I'm forced out from the underworld by some attendant and I feel your embrace fade away. I'm walking home, under the moonlight and the streetlights, and I try to whisper to you, urging you to come back, baby, come back, please.

You're almost back, I can feel you, when some police siren scares you away. I curse under my breath and fall to the street and the light above turns Emerald and everything burns into nothing.

And then, I can see It, lurking behind all of my memories. But only for a second, not too long, for me, for me to notice, I didn't, couldn't, wouldn't, shouldn't, will never.

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