Prologue ~i~
“Listen to the sounds of radioactive waves, the sounds only I can hear. Imperfections I see, solely me. Burn out from blue, from ocean, and sky. Click-clack sounds of chalk hitting board. Plip-plop sounds of water hitting ground,” was the piece of writing I found fluttering towards my window 2 years ago. I take it out from under my pillow when I want to scream.
Maybe my sound will fade away. Annerlos -my hometown that I so purely hate- is the perfect place to cover up the most perfect imperfections.
Can’t find my sight, lost in their own thoughts of want. My head stuffed in a pillow, muffling graceful melodies float from up from the kitchen. Fine times of collision, as they don’t bother to search for it.
“Listen to the sounds of stabbing knives, the sounds only I can hear. Holes I see, solely me. Burn out from red, from blood, and love. Wish-wash sounds of gurgling washing machines. Creak-crack sounds of shoes on floors,” is what I wrote 3 months ago, when I realized I needed to add the red I’m tired of seeing in my head every night.
“Burn out from red, from blood, and love,” calls out to me every single time I read it. “Burn out from red,” too much gore driven into my brain from my terrible wants. “From blood, from love,” no more, no need.
Time, running away. Remembrance, fading away. Focusing on paths that I do not need anymore, the sirens wailing. The shouts escalating, my joy to hear this.
Overwhelmed my friends are, perfect opportunity to strike. Strike right through their limbs. Then, my satisfactory smile. My mind is the only hiding place my secrets can be born and die.
Reach up like grabbing stars, only to find a shadow in your palm. Annerlos is the perfect, fake place to show the most perfect, fake stars.
Say I’m perfect -like Annerlos- and say I’m selfless. Get me all wrong from the truth. My whole rips me apart into half. My own crazy. My own tears. My awake.
My eyes slowly stretch open, blinding light that I can’t bear. Knocking on the door, I imagine a beast awakening from its den. Instead, my perfect parents come out of their perfect room.
Their footsteps drag down my shiny hall with mine. Their footsteps drag down my glossy stairs with mine. Their eyes follow the sunny sun. Not along with mine. Their eyes follow the path to the light. Without me.
My path involves the moon and the sun, opposite faces. The day and night, opposite times. My path follows the assassination of hope, also the creation of sound. The dying and rebirth...
hear the sounds of radioactive waves
the sounds I can only hear
imperfections I see
solely me
burn out from blue
from ocean and sky
click-clack sounds of chalk hitting board
plip-plop sounds of water hitting ground
hear the sounds of stabbing knives
the sounds only I can hear
burn out from red
from blood and love
wish-wash sounds of gurgling washing machines
creak-crack sounds of shoes on floors
freefall no weight
whistle like a train
my eyes can hear
listen to the sounds
