I don’t want to lie to you but I sure wish I could start lying to myself. Tell a different story of me, one that sits less altered in her chair, skewed by the forks laid to eat in tarmac
Truth doesn’t sit well at 2am, when the specter and the sickle crescent with the moon, to chime their heady blend of ‘what if’s’ and disturbance cavorting against imagination
I think of the quiet Christmas eve house, Tom and Jerry fooling about, seems I’ve been living long, if memory can stretch the length of night, without curling back upon itself
you’re there of course, shy and bold and beautiful
and out of the corner of my eye, I see the young me, her nylon night-dress and untrimmed straggly hair
Penguin looks with his sad eyes, Teddy tries not to cry, as knots in the wardrobe come alive, menacing faces, terror…
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TheFeatheredSleep 
You always write so beautifully to make some darkness light.
💟💟💟
Thank you for sharing your gifts!
Commented on original post
xx
Thank you for reading me
You are so very lovely to say so. I have ‘known’ you since I first began on WP and whenever I see your symbol on WP come up I immediately read what you have written first – this is because you are the night poet whom I first read and felt a sympathy with – for your insights in this world are always spot-on
Aww! Thank you and I see you as the same ❤
“To deceive others is discourteous
but to deceive oneself
is disastrous.”
– Ben Naga