Solace

Isolated by a quietly devouring madness she sits, Curled into a foetal huddle in the wreckage of an unmade bed Her knees jacked up to her chin, her eyes shut - translucent battened hatches Her lips parted, childish, hinting at wistful vulnerability, And the silent hope that her soul might be set free, and escape through The tiny gap between... ...those gentle rosebud lips In her ears, nestled like white plastic pearls in the swirling shell of her lobes, Sit the miniscule microphones, blasting escapism and beauty Into the desperate crevices of her heart – each soaring note a fresh Droplet of water to soothe the drought that erodes her soul, day by day... Music, her intangible solace, the swansong to her raven, the reason for every Reluctant breath that scrapes down her tired throat Without it she would be dead The music is her closest friend, each song a vibrant ballad for her broken heart – It serves as a tangled cacophonous balm to soothe the sharpness of the remaining Serrated edges, It smoothes out the crinkles in her soul, which resembles the dry concertinaed muddle of A snake’s rejected skin, transparent and crumbling at the ends Music sets her soul on fire, pulls her back from the dizzy brink The singers’ voices rumbling and snarling in her mind, tigers in a gladiator’s ring, they wage bloody war against the demons that prowl the dim-lit corridors of the waif’s subconscious… …they protect her from the gloom… Now, as the fading beats draw to a close, she opens her eyes, the lashes fluttering Like sooty butterfly wings, She stretches, drags her unwilling mind back from the frosted northern heights it fled to, She focuses her whimsical eyes, still damp with tears of yearning And reaching up with reluctant hands she removes the silent earphones and lays them to rest beside her bedside… …to await the new challenges of tomorrow.