The Smouldering Fields

Light, quiet, hardly there, fields of burnt crops now await a new season, I stand surrounded by the ashes, it feels so empty up there all alone. It has become so easy for me to turn the page, I have now set fire to the whole damn bookshelf. I thought I was just avoiding the unexpected visitor, hiding behind cracked walls, looking through peepholes, fearing its icy stare. I found the light switch, there was no one else there but me, and all those voices inside my head. There really was no depth to this heart of mine, no text between the lines, there was only fear of empty fields, of moonless nights, of imagined shadows. Once naked, bruised and shamed the empty fields were all I wanted. These fields are now my home. Ravaged by the rage left behind, but I alone sit a top the hill like a damned queen overlooking her kingdom of ghosts.


This is my promised land, inhabited by all the broken mirrors, shattered illusions, each of them setting roots on my flesh, breaking skin, new crops. Those eyes you use to love they are no longer diamonds, they've turned too many souls to stone, they now decorate my palace, they remind me of the paths I should not thread. Look at them, always a smile on their lips, unaware of the fate they must endure for playing with my heart.

There is no one here, my mind is so quiet. There are no doubts, no questions. No pesky little spies waiting for a prize. The abyss is right there in front of my feet but so is the summit, both so tempting, and the drugs just keep me there in a state of vertigo, thrilling. The world is suddenly sepia, all I can feel is the incessant pounding in my chest, in the place where my heart use to be. The blood has frozen, and somehow I still breathe. Blood-tainted lenses over my eyes show you in your true colours, move over now, there is plenty more for me to see. I was not so sweet, that was all an act. The one you see now, the one with the sword in hand, she's the one behind the childish masks.Now that I don't care about you I can tell you I lied, I was never yours. My feet would not have followed you, there was a last goodbye, long before the end. I see that now.I have shed the skin of that woman, when it was all said and done, I was someone else.

It is empty, desolate, and I am still raw and harsh, but it is all mine. With a cigarette in my mouth, twirling in circles, turning and turning, big eyes, red lips, perfume in my hair, mischief in my stare, the lady dances with me, and I will rest my heavy head in a borrowed pillow tonight.