Bleached to Clear

Hidden in the shadows

They lurk and scuttle

Moving from one dark spot to the next

 

Skulking

Hunched shuffling

 

A small bent figure

Runs from the light

Primal in motion

Hands and feet caked

With the grit of escapism

 

The floor wore thin

Now only dirt remains

In the wake of the incessant pacing

And the blinds are near rotten

Pulled and left for so long

 

The only sound in this place

Is the mixed noise

Of this things movement

And the strange mutterings it utters

 

This pale figure

In love with isolation

Hides its movements

For reasons unknown

Wishing it could fade

From bleached to clear

 

The creature wants to disappear

 

Letting the past bend its back

Lock the door

And seal the room

 

Until all that remains

Are the muttered words

And the paper white remains

06/08/2012

Author's Note

0622 am

Reviews

[...]

I completely identify with this figure. I have wished for the past to be erased many a time. Somehow, though, things have changed a bit. But I still love this piece and the way it captures the psyche of the isolated one. Superbly written and relayed.