The Hell Butterfly

Archive for January, 2018

-Stifle- : Daily Prompt

This life of mine

has been forever spent

under the thumb.

Her thumb.

His thumb.

Your thumb.

The thumbs of anyone

and everyone

who has appendages

that hurt enough

when pressed

into the back of my neck.

 

Can I make my own decisions?

 

The mask is clamped upon my face again.

Once more the turn,

the hiss of gas,

and you pump Blame into me

like deadly mercury.

I pull away

because you make me.

I try to reach for you,

for all of you,

and your response is

“you are hurting us”.

My pain is negligible.

My opinion unimportant.

“You are hurting us”.

 

Can I not express my pain?

 

In bedtime stories I resented Alice.

I never liked that girl.

I preferred the intricacies

of tea parties

and pocket watches

and mice in teapots

and happy unbirthdays

and twirling through dreams

contemplating

why a raven is like a writing desk.

I could never sleep then

and cannot sleep now.

I lie awake at night

and stare up at plastic stars,

stuck there long ago,

and make a wish

as one falls to the ground in the blackness.

My hands are shaking.

You did this to me.

I could never speak then

and cannot speak now.

You will not let me.

One more inhalation

forced through my throat.

I breathe because I must

and Blame pumps into me

like deadly mercury.

 

Yes, sir.

No, sir.

Three bags full, sir.

“Compliancy becomes you.”

 

You taught me to

do as you say not as you do

and so I shut my mouth.

I say no words that are not

scripted for me.

I play my part fantastically

and the world applauds the show.

Not my show,

yours.

The audience whose name is Terror

congratulate you

on a job well done.

I am returned to my cage.

I am your crazy girl

putting on your show

in felt top hats

and sequinned coats

and chase magician’s birds across the stage

and so disgust you.

When I go out on-stage

you tell me “break a leg”

and hate me when I don’t.

You see me eye the hangman’s noose

and roll your eyes.

Not one of you believe

that I could.

 

Can nobody tell me why?

 

I call to her.

I call to him.

I call to you.

I call to anyone.

I call to everyone.

I break my silence and scream

“tell me why!”

Not one approached me first

with answers

I have always wanted

yet waited until you

broke my resolve

and I needed you.

You do not see that I am scared,

that I desire,

that I love and hate you all.

You see only

broken wires

and equipment unplugged

and so you fix it

in the only way you know how.

“This will make you better.

This is all for you.

You are hurting us.”

Blood trails from my ears.

 

Can you forgive me?

 

Once more the turn,

the hiss of gas,

and you pump Blame into me

like deadly mercury.

 

This post was inspired by the Daily Prompt: Stifle. As such, this piece is entitled the same.

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Lament

When thoughts of you pass by me,

as ships in the night upon a foggy ocean,

I see not your purpose,

but the wake you leave

and the mists you stir

as you disrupt the peace of the sleeping sea.

You draw attention enough

to warrant a closer look

and so I grab

binoculars

and stare

at you.

You.

You who said

you would never betray me.

You who said

you would always care for me.

You who said

you just thought I’d like it.

I bet you said that

to the albatross as well

before you shot it in the head

and ended it forever.

You wear it like a scarf,

and I the matching glove,

wrapped around you

and your little finger.

Or was it forefinger?

It matters not.

 

When thoughts of you pass by me,

the ocean parts

and flows in

heavy droplets

upon my cheeks

in shapes of you.

The thunderous sea

caves in on me

and innocence in gilded treasure boxes,

unlocked with your master key,

are drowned within it.

“I’m doing this for you my love.

I do it all because I care.”

I cannot hear your voice now but

the words remain unchanging

in a memory etched with images

of you

and your deceit.

I grasp at my chest,

lungs heavy now that

they are vessels for the sea.

The skin beneath my cotton shirt

crawls as though to get away

from fingers reaching, grabbing,

a firm yet gentle stabbing

of a child’s heart.

My breast, it heaves,

as I try to force oxygen in

around restraints you put me in.

Cold hands become my prison.

 

When thoughts of you pass by me

I cast my gaze upon the water’s edge,

seeing my own face besmirched

with memories of you.

I beg my love, Poseidon,

to embrace me the way you did.

I fall into him and he takes me.

I pray that he will cleanse me,

yet below the surface now,

as underwater eddies clutch at me,

I see the albatross.

I reach for it

but I am ripped away by currents

far too strong

to fight.

I am engulfed by him.

 

You said I’d asked for it.

You said you did it all for me.

Through cotton candy filters

did my eyes and ears perceive love

in a rusty playground,

in the bedroom of a memory,

on bricks of grey beside the stream,

when awestruck over steam-trains

laying in your arms.

When thoughts of you pass by me

my rose-tinted glasses turn

into sharp cranberry.

My eyes begin to sting,

an ocean flowing once again

to make me drown.