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There is a choice. She said 'To be fair, I should have four of them so that I can pick or mix and match. I do not know what the answer is.'
The question is clear. See that bright pink sky sign hanging up ahead - it is a moment away and this car will soon shoot underneath, the pink lights playing across our faces.
We can laugh. Silly children. Flash lights, spot lights - do you see me? I see you -
not all at once. I will hold each memory and piece it together at a later stage. I will patch you together so I can see you whole.
Enthralling revelation. The pieces here, the pieces there - they have swooped and swooned together. I sit on this orange stair, watching them knit busily.
They are hopelessly entwined.
I bought the sharpest pair of scissors I could find. Hack that blanket, cut it up. It taunts me it tells me it laughs at me You can't have this. You can't have this. You can't have this.
There are no scissors sharp enough. It is stronger than me and I suppose - yes - I suppose that is partly the attraction.
So I sit here on this yellow floor. (I am moving towards the bathroom)
Way one is waiting in the bathroom. Pristine, clean, brand new. I venture in, I glance coyly. They smile at me, beckoning.
Come and get us, We will make you bleed. We will make you numb. We will remind you.
I look -you are so pretty. I want to, I want to, I imagine the feeling - the numb red spurts. I am waiting - anticipating.
Oh you, you have been gone for so long. So many years, it's like coming home to myself. The years gone by were just a clever stupid lie.
Way two in the bedroom, I count the yellow pills. Not enough for that but that is not the aim. They are merely the first stepping stone. A handful - enough to make me numb.
Beautiful pearls sliding down my throat slowing me down slipping me under the covers and we can cry all day all week all month hidden.
The living room holds way three. She's flipped. She hates hates this opheliablue, She craves destruction.
What is opheliablue? No guts no courage no strength. Delete her. She knows it would hurt so she sits there and deletes some of you instead. She hopes that will wound her, perhaps enough to stop those razors calling her name.
She knows it won't touch anyone else. The Queen of failure is asking for deactivation. (You will be glad) . A line through her name could make her smile.
To the kitchen for way four. A prop, an extra, not enough. Just take it to bed and it may make the pearls sweeter and easier and it may make her drift.
But it is time to stop writing and start doing. We will assemble our props and our stage. We will get ready for a dress rehearsal. We know our lines. We have known them for years.
We think we will be word perfect today.
© Morney Wilson
Morney Wilson
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