Cobalt Blue (1st rewrite)

A Poem by Nobody.

Cobalt Blue

Tonight, an orange bus stop bench in a sleepless statue garden cradles my misery. Memories are jackboot armies lined up for blocks to take turns at kicking me in the head. It was a little white house by a dirty lake. My aunt lived in the tiny guestroom with the ugly red chili pepper wallpaper. My mother told me that we had to be nice to her because Jesus was always watching. She was my dad’s sister. She swore she was a Victorian princess who was bitten by a Chinese vampire during a masquerade ball in 1873. For some horrible reason, she bought hemorrhoid cream by the case. Her eyes were cobalt blue, and she wore long white silk gloves even when she slept. She once used my plastic toy telephone to call Copernicus and complain that the stars were too close to her window. The call lasted 45 minutes.

What scares me is that I now know exactly what she meant. Every song I’ve ever heard is crawling just beneath my skin like audio parasitic confusion. Perhaps, I inherited this insanity when my aunt died last year. Or maybe I’ve gone crazy because Jesus won’t stop staring at me.

His eyes are cobalt blue and he wears long white silk gloves even when he sleeps.

© 2012 Nobody.

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Reviews

freelancejouster

mmn, relatable where it shouldn't be, you've made my skin itch the same way i'm sure that yours does sometimes. wary, now, of those with blue eyes; couldn't be trusted in the first place.