Linoleum, under barren toes,
Chilled, like morning dewdrops.
Hands resting,
Gripping, the sides of porcelain sink.
An aura of cold morning light,
Autumn morning, not spring.
The chill bitter, not welcoming.
Staring, green eyes,
Into mirror, faded edges, dulled background
Of life, in this chilled autumn scene.
And a face, scrubbing,
Scrubbing away at blemishes and freckles.
Soapy suds momentarily hide the mirrored face
A guise, a veil,
Avert the eyes.
Don’t answer the question.
Nipping like the acrid winds.
Water springs from rusted tap,
And guise is gone.
Clean, barren face.
Tired green eyes.
And the smell of soap that lingers
Like the embodiment of cleanliness.
Wafting, mingling with
Smell of fall rains,
Damp leaves.
Speckled mirror edges,
Accent what isn’t there.
Encroaching borders on the paled face.
A battle that swallows one up.
The mind, predator.
The heart, prey.
Logic at war with emotion.
Bloodied, bruised bodies,
Ensue.
In the mirror,
Reversed reflection.
Of the tortured eyes.
Standing, slumped,
From cold and fear
And thought.
Feet, anchors,
On the flecked green-gold,
1970’s linoleum.
Shifting, in fall colors.
The chill runs through,
From feet to heart.
Spilt-second
Of knowing.
Green eyes become clear.
Horribly clear.
And a shudder
Forces hands to grip
Solid, to the porcelain.
A weight, an anvil,
Thrust into the gut,
The heart.
Logic falls,
Flat like the crisp,
Descending leaves.
To lie along the floor tiles.
And the feeling of fall nights,
Ushered in.
So clear
And quiet.
Still.
Still.
Heartbeat against lungs,
Thin as air, cold as night.
The only sound,
Like leaves stirring.
Dissension of crisp and clear
Fall night.
Green eyes.
Pale face.
Flecked with gold-green.
And you see.
Logic fail,
Heart fumble.
And grasp.
Cling to words,
You thought untrue.
“I love you.”
Wednesday I'm handing this (Or a further draft of this) over to one of my teachers.
I wonder what he'll think,
As even I don't know what to make of this.
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