Second Skin

Days go by, sometimes white and red.
Voices keep talking, inside my head,
Some full of laughter, some full of pain.
Echoing and pounding, they stretch and strain.
I say something, they hear something else.
Opposites collide, tangents align themselves.
And when it hurts too much, I slip this skin.

The voices no longer whisper, the tears dry unshed.
The cruel whispers are silent, hopefully dead.
Silence serenades, no shouts or screams.
Colours have transformed into a beautiful, pearly sheen.
Time floats by, the day is painful no more,
Red recedes, the blue silent waves lap the shore.
I am you and you are me.

Night is coming, the sun fades away,
The mysterious moon is dawning, so ends the day.
I keep walking, whistling fragmentary tunes to myself
Suddenly someone clamps my mouth, I can’t scream help.
I am pushed roughly against a stony, dirty wall,
The stranger forces, shuttered windows, no one to call.
The hands of mine push, he slips, he falls.
The throat I claw, he thrashes, then no longer moves at all.
I see his eyes; they no longer do see mine.
Danger is gone, now I am fine.

I stand up straight, I stand up tall.
The sinful dead, another joins the Dark hall.
I start walking, the night is beautiful once more.
Whistling resumes, fragments I encore.
I look at my hands, they have blood-how could it be?
I am unhurt and yet no one I did see.
I was walking back home and no one stopped my way.
It was another uneventful, colourless day.
The voices start again, clamouring to break free.
I am you and you are me.

I sang...

Sometimes one wakes up in the morning looking at Grey. The eyes have turned monochromatic. The cold feeling stays, wrapping itself around like tendrils of ice, the fiercest rubbing cannot thaw. I am Kay, and the mirror pieces are in my heart.
The Snow Queen in her glorious magnificence is my best friend. And I celebrate “this is my December.”

Sometimes the threads of Lonliness wave in the wind like gossamer threads looking for an open,warm heart to connect to. The people walk past each other looking straight through. They see you and yet they don’t. Closed faces, hurried paces, people running their measured races. The hungry man looks for Hope, the addict for dope. I am Oliver Twist and the hunger is in my heart. Fagin with his nimble hands and many pockets is my best friend. And I celebrate “where the streets have no name”.

Sometimes the body shakes from within. The breath chokes and stops. The blood has been boiling for too long. The repressed voice strains to break free. Flashbacks of childhood on you, catharsis is unleashed. The victim is the inflictor, history repeats but you cannot see. I am Dr Jekyll and the medicine is in my veins. Hyde with his cruel visage is my best friend. And I celebrate “ a whiter shade of pale”.