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A Game Of Thorns - Collaboration with Maurice Yvonne
i heard a...what do they say...a spine chilling scream ...is that the saying? a spine chilling scream followed by 'he's dead, my G_d he's dead' the phrase echoed inside the whole of me like tennis balls bouncing between two parallel walls i ran up aware i would be at the edge where the road ends and the gates of heaven stand saw a young man looked through the aperture of his existence looked and singed his eyelashes looked and could not see beyond now you know those beautiful fluffy white clouds the kind that feel like large teddy bears that want to hug you she had landed her very own- she cherished him knew who he was felt lucky they shared a mutual love i can't imagine the despair flowed through her when she saw him like that his doughy complexion screamed volumes breaking the thunderous silence he was a pale grey, blank, empty a sight impossible to process at odds with how one survives the experience of this tragedy she was lost in a dreamless mare [most of the time life its outcome depends on the flip of a coin if you don't know that you don't understand life his coin landed on its side ...all the kings men and all the kings horses...] her 'beautiful huge fluffy white cloud' had succumbed to the storm heart in throat hesitantly she touched him he was a frigid cold for a moment she saw her own smokey breath moving as if she was walking through the thick grains of unbearable pain thoughts racing she attempted to make sense of the senseless despair had grabbed her by the throat shook her around like so much thread and fabric she thought he might of seen life as futile society as a guise, as a failed paradigm thought he had reached the last motel on the road to nowhere and just...checked out depression the illness it's unlike any other pain when it peaks few if any survive it the afflicted instinctively self medicate but street drugs are mean she could easily empathize she too was him honestly she was tired of living in her sadness a life marinated in tears basted in blood the experience of having seen her partner lose his life to drugs and alcohol affected her profoundly experiencing his death was like getting hit over the head with a sledgehammer she'd never wash it off it clung to her like a pariah you can't wake up from reality and you can't sleep through it the tragedy had possessed her sensibilities it was a malignant truth she could not ratify singular in its nature unfathomable she'd been blindfolded and spun a ballerina on a high wire across the span of time spiralling down an infinite vortex one plus one is seven the ceiling isn't a celestial painting how many fingers a forty ounce of vodka opioids a hundred times stronger than heroin men in uniforms and and ...lost... what happened? less than two hours ago he could think- speak he had his very own persona now lying there as nothing it could have been her it could have be anyone but it wasn't it was- Him what did occur to her was the loss.
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