Elusive Ink

Thrash
By Lindsey Ann Bledsoe

Paint stains in a room with no paint
Dissonant hurt. Elusive pain.
Joy bubbling out from over the seams.
Seams...sea...ceases...seems...

Nothing is what it seems.

Nothing is tame.

Shrouded and clouded in shame there is a touch of black and white.
Gerald sneaks in the window at night.
Faceless. Bound by primary scarves.
Slipping against the shallow, glittering dark.

They whisper about their shiny new things,
While the wailing, howling speakers sing.
So many thoughts tornado my brain.
Nouns become adjectives. Am I insane?

I space the lines, and watch the times.

I shudder, and the teapot whines.

A sickening thought pervades my soul.

Cacophony.

Hope.

I've broken things.

A vase? No.

I've broken important things, and the crazy man sits quietly watching.

He watches me and stares through my perfect hair.

Rubber soles squeak, and I see it as purple.
Things shouldn't be red...black and white, black and white.
Am I thinking? Always. Quite.

He stands and cymbals in my face.
I send him off to join the race.
Unprotected in cyberspace.

An appreciation unmatched by all.

I sit here. Very, very small.