Day 7: Midnight


What do you see when you close your eyes – is it more than soft pink light?  Are you bathed in warm tranquility or does your mind turn towards a darker place?   My mind is oft fraught with negativity like vipers thoughts that coil around my brain to bite away at those small morsels of once-happy brain matter overpowered by snaking strength.  It is not through want  of  trying that the clichéd jagged-edged crown of such ‘the tortured writer’ sits so snuggly upon my weary head.  My shaping spirit  of imagination too often seeks to shelter in dank and dangerous places, to linger down those shadowy narrow cobbled streets that lead only to winding slopes and knife-edged hollows.  Yet like too so much the boilerplate of writers I own a predisposition to be spurred through my feeble dim existence by the unmistakeable glowing light of our human notion of ‘love’.  This, as with many pathetic beings, is my sole resource, my only plan to escape the shifting sands of a dangerous mind.  Waiting for those lighter days, till that which warms my heart does infect the whole, and dissipate gross ominous grey clouds that hang above my head.

Till then midnight seems my darkest hour, for little sleep at such time does come, instead I lie awake and listen to the tumbling rain, for each passing week, and almost years.  This is the limping existence of a world-weary soul.  I take to lingering on passing beauty, winged fancy and all but hare-footed propinquity to be my pen and draw the faintest outline of intimacy but look closer and any would note this has only the guise of substance.

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