a hypnotic scene

dear diary,
we live our lives in silence, the creature and I
creating hypnotic scenes in our daydreams.

night after night through the eye of the storm
we never speak the truth and we feed them with our stories
we ride it out, proud as baby swallows, learning not to fly,
and with every metamorphosis the heart grows harder.

and as you sweep out with the winter breeze
a bunch of opium flowers and their milky stems
leaving wet marks on the mantle piece
stories bound together by white silk ribbons
when you go I dance on daggers. 

your apartment was impersonal, distanced in all is grandeur, distanced.
old furniture scattered carelessly along the walls relics paintings of ancestors
old relatives kept in urns mary and jesus pinned to the cross mary had a little
lamb and in the heavy chest by the door your private supply of armour,
my camera educed paranoia as morning light started pouring itself over the city.

so the creature and I walk down this lonesome country road,
her cradled in my arms tiny wrists like a pearl necklace.
our path lined by oak trees, memories peeling off the branches,
drink red sand, weep white snow, watch bridal veils grazing the horizon,
and with every metamorphosis the heart grows harder.

tomorrow little creature
tomorrow meet the world.