Covered

It clung against the wall as his large frame shuffled as far away from it as he could.
The opaque figure seemed to stare at him with an eye-less face.  He didn't know what made him more frightful- the fact that he had been seeing this... 'thing' for the past four weeks, or that no one else seemed to see it like he did. 
He blinked.
The figure didn't fade. 
As he loomed on, his legs became the same heavy weights that they usually became.  His arms didn't sway as much compared to other people.  And it felt as though a shadow veiled his mind, as though a tree blocking sunlight.
But he couldn't figure out what the tree was created by.
His eyes flicked to the figure walking closely to the wall. 
He glanced at the other people around him. 
There was one woman there with a child.  She was cradling her sobbing son while kissing his cheek.  With him in her arms, his tears faded rather quickly, and he felt a sudden slash in his side.
A gasp escaped his throat as he gripped his side.  But there was no mark.  He looked at the figure, and he could feel the grin enveloping its dark face.
He could feel what the slash left behind.
Almost an emptiness.
As though a void of where love should be.  He looked again at the woman and son, and felt the slashing feeling again.
Jealousy?
No, he shook his head roughly.  He didn't want children.  But as he walked by the small family, the digging in his side grew harder to bear. 
He could feel the endless pupils grazing his skin.
The figure still seemed to go unnoticed.
But as his eyes scraped over the being, he noticed how it seemed taller.
A sharp shiver ran down his spine, his steps increasing with speed. But there, in the corner of his eye he could see the being keeping his pace. 
He began sprinting, filled with an internal pain he couldn't comprehend.
Everything seemed to become grey.
Gray skyscrapers, grey cars, grey families that were holding each other.
He cried out, collapsing to the cement, and the figure seemed to sit beside him.
Waiting.
He stared at it, as though he expected it to attack him.
Just like how it attacked his side.
And how it had blocked his colours.
And how it blocked his sun.
He blinked again, and he looked up into the cloud covered sky.
Grey.
A person walked through the being.
He staggered backwards in shock.
They walked through the being.
He looked at the black figure, and slowly reached his hand out.
But no matter how far he reached, he couldn't touch it.
He couldn't feel it.
He scanned around him again and fear ripped through him.
Every where there were black beings.  All of them were staring at him. He could feel their icy gaze scraping down his skeleton.
He jumped up from the cement, screams erupting from his mouth.
But no one saw him.
He was alone.
Only the shadows around him paid attention to him.
The shadows of his own being.
And the shadows of other people.
They clung to him, blocking out the light that illuminated around him.
But he was in the void,
too deep to see the light.
And it hurt his heart.
It hurt his heart.

That, is so.

It was different.
To see the waves crash on the pale wispy sand
that was also under my feet.
It was soothing.
How the icy tongues lapped my toes
and drew me closer to the sea.
But it was heavy.
With each step
that each push seemed to draw me down.
But it was fading.
The feeling of fear
was nailing me through the ground.
The sky was clear.
As I looked up
and held onto the startling azures and violets.
The sky was silent.
As the water met my chin
and I swore that I smelt lilacs.
But something was odd now.
The safety I felt was dissipating.
The comfort I was supposed to feel
was now somehow mis-created
and the water beneath me
is burning my throat
with salted tears
I'm unable to float.
What is dragging me down
under the blackest of ebony
is only myself-
my inflated enemy.
But my mouth isn't screaming
oh no,
I understand
that this is my destiny
my ultimate plan
in which I hold no power
to change
or manipulate.
Because I had done that to myself
which is how I'm drowning in waves.
Because these are not waves
of the ocean I wish to see
but the waves of pain and hatred
that have erupted through me
and it is pulling me down
into the tomb below
where I will not sleep
but cry with sorrow
and see-
hear me now
even though I will stay woken
my thoughts and memories
will stay being spoken
to the whim
of not my own wishes
but to those who had
fought with utmost viciousness.
 It is different.
Now, the sky isn't clear
but murky and clouded
as though filled with dried fears.
Fear of which
can not be forgotten
but held onto and seen
with every transaction.
I lay here
under the sea
being washed with the stars
but my throat isn't burning
as though behind bars.
My eyes are shut
but not deathly so
but oh,
oh woe
the soul inside-
that, is so.

Thump

The laugh was caught in his throat as his eyes met the deep brown ones before him.                
What a stupid thought.                                                              
To laugh at.
To think that a simple stray hair could be funny.
But it was out of place.
That was funny.
But the eyes weren't laughing.
Or giddy for that matter.
They were filled with a boiling rage that-
held something.
Something
Funny.
He blinked and for a second, the eyes were black.
But the blue rings below them framed them smoothly.
Leaving little else
but fatigue
and stress
and worry.
What a stupid thought.
That he hadn't changed.
The nose in front of him was thick but pointed.
Not up
nor down.
Just. Pointed.
But the pale glow he saw
was troubling.
He turned his head with curiosity.
The face before him didn't shift.
It instead seemed to laugh.
What... three days?
Weeks?
How long has he seen it.
The look before him.
What a stupid thought.
He's seen that look every day since he could...
remember...
But remember what?
In which context did he want to remember?
Did he want to see?
Of course.
Of course.
What a stupid thought.
But those eyes did not want to see.
But he wanted to see.
HE wanted to see.
He hushed himself.
Twice.
Again.
He leaned closer.
No.
Further away.
He took the nail of his thumb
and dug it into his palm.
But as the blood formed a small pool
And he rose his hand towards those
dark eyes
there wasn't a mark on their palm.
He dug deeper.
Screaming with rage.
But this time he dug to his wrist.
He lifted it.
Nothing.
No.
This isn't right.
What a stupid thought.
Of course it's right.
If he can't see it
it isn't there.
But it is.
He sees it.
Right there.
He dug further
up to his elbow.
Nothing showing.
To his neck.
Another agonizing scream.
To his chest.
Cries of fury.
To his heart.
And he dug there until he felt the solemn
thump
thump
thump
And he dug.
He looked into those eyes.
They were laughing.
At him.
What a stupid thought.
He couldn't be laughing at himself.
He wasn't even grinning.
He was shrieking.
In hatred.
But then he fell.
To the marble underneath him.
thump
thump
But he could still see him.
The look he's giving him
as he sits in front of him calmly.
thump
As his eyes shut
he saw
Those brown eyes
Happy.

As Gravity Pulled Me Under

The steps grew heavier with each push against the cool concrete. Gravity dragging me like a magnet to the Earth. But my eyes stayed focused on the point on the horizon where my goal was.
And then I rose my foot again. I looked up at the startling blue above me, and as I grew nearer to the lamppost, my steps lightened.  My hands locked onto the freezing metal post, and I felt my legs slowly raising upward, into the sea above.
My light hair danced around my face, licking the air down into blue.
Or was it up?
Pain staggered through my arms as I held onto the post. The sky below seemed endlessly clear.
And I saw a dot.
Just a small dot.
Laughter evaded my mouth.
A dot?
My fingers loosened, my heart lept into my throat.
Air sung across my face, kissing me with teeth.
But I began falling upward.
Gravity tugged me up, and I was flipped.
Suddenly the dot was growing the larger, and I saw a glimpse of the pale hair.
Wind surged around, and I was shocked by the sudden shattering of the mirror I was in.
The waves were smooth around me, and I looked up at the thick metal grates above.
And I looked down as gravity pulled me under.
As gravity pulled me under.

James

The morning where the rain wasn't falling.
The air that didn't hold a tinge of guilt.
All came whirling when I looked at my reflection.
The splotchy skin.
The red eyes.
The way that hiccups still escaped my sobbing mouth.
But I looked into the mirror and saw my large forehead. How the thin, oily strands of hair clung around my ears. But in the cold green eyes, I saw something someone told me about.
I think the word was, adventitious.
I hadn't heard that word before he had said it. That's why it stuck.
He was holding me. We were arguing before he grabbed my wrist. The wrist that was attached to the hand I was going to slap him with. Because he told me I was 'Too damn adventitious.'
And I thought that was a bad thing. In his context, it was.
But to be a person to go with the flow of things...
That's a good character.
And as I was huffing, and he was fuming, his grip released and I started laughing.
It wasn't the tiny giggles that bubble out from a child's' throat when they find something cute. Oh no. It was the laughter that was so obnoxiously loud that startled both of us.
It sounds like an odd memory. And you may ask why I like it so much.
Because after I stopped laughing, his face froze.
And my breathing stopped.
I wasn't scared.
I was...
Adventitious.
Because I let him kiss me.
And then I let him kiss me again.
And again.
He held me then. His hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer as I laced my shaken hands through his silky brown hair.
I never felt so light until it happened.
We practically fell down the beach steps, crashing into the sand in a fit of the childish giggles.
James.

Seven months ago.
And here I stand in front of my mirror. Greasy brown hair and puffy eyes.

I dreamt of him.
Again.
It was the memory of us fighting again.
But this time I truly did slap him.
And he never spoke to me again.
But as he was rushing off in a fit of rage, he turned onto the road. Screaming at me.
"It's okay for control, Abbi. But don't always follow the way of life. Do something to manipulate it."
Because then he stands there with tears in his eyes.
He's trying to help.
And I see the way the light of the setting sun falls onto his side. How it reflects into his eyes and bloody Hell, he catches me out of breath.
And he steps forward.
Five steps from the sidewalk.
Four.
Three.

But the light on his side isn't from the deep reds of the sun.
It's his blood. Seeping through his shirt.
And he knew.

I woke up then. Before he could fall to the road.
That's how I woke up sobbing.
I think I was crying during the dream too.
I think I knew.

Seven months ago, my James died.
The James who taught me control, freedom and love.
My James. Who woke up at four in the morning, would jog all the way to my front yard (which was well over 10 miles) and bring me coffee so we could drink it and go for another run.
My James. Who showed me how to surf.
Who I punched in the eye because he was such a jack ass.
Who I kissed one thousand times because he was so sincere.

My James. Who was hit by a car while we were walking home after the best surf of the year.
Who never ran with me again.
Who never cried with me when my father passed away.
Or screamed with utter joy when my sister walked across her Ballet performance for the Black Swan.

My James. Who I loved so heartachingly. So wholefully.

So I stand in front of my mirror without his lips caressing my shoulder.
With my dirty hair and sullen eyes.

And I bring the cold water onto my face.

My body burning from the sadness revolting within me.

And I breathe.

Because James isn't breathing right now.

And I want to breathe for him.

Dreamer

Dreams that I have, always seem to confuse me.
Either they terrify so much that I feel paralyzed, or that I want to lock my door,
or they feel right in the dream, but I have little to no clue what it could have meant when I wake up.
Now, I know the second one most people feel.
That in the dream it makes complete sense, but in the awoken world, it doesn't.
Or the dream is simply forgotten.
But I'm a dreamer.
A dreamer who remembers most of my dreams. And some of them... well to be blunt, they bloody terrified me.
But then I'll have a dream, so heartbreakingly lovely, that I wake up so incredibly sad.
I've only had two dreams I remember like that.
One was about love, the other of death.
But the dreams that catch me off guard, ha, well, suddenly I'll dream of a person I haven't thought of in a long time. Just to give a whirlwind of emotions come tumbling through me as I awake.

But how can a person know what they're feeling when they wake up is honest and true, in comparison to the effects of what emotion was manifested in the dream. The dream that felt so real that you could touch items. Feel the grit, or the breath coming from your throat.
Because I can't.
And that, is why I am so, completely, utterly confused with my emotions.

Last night I dreamt of a person I haven't spoken to in about a year. And they were playing hockey. (Not their favourite sport may I add) But they were playing hockey on a large team in a soccer arena. The area looked like grass, but they were obviously skating on it.  And I stood at the entrance in the dim lighting, between six large square cement posts.  And after, he came out and I hid. But he found me.
And he almost kissed me. But that was when I woke up.

This boy, whom I haven't spoken with in a year, I have never had romantic feelings towards. And it's dreams like this where I can't tell if I made a mistake. Because I can't force a part a reality to a thought.

But one thing that brings me back to the realization that it was a dream and not real is the fact that I was in love with the idea of it.
Whether it be about a boy, or a family member, or even an island of some sort, it is the idea that enticed me as I woke up. Not the actual thought of ,"If I had stayed with him, that is how I would have felt."
No. The way I have found to separate the confusing feelings of reality to dreams is the idea of it. To pull a part what I loved or hated about it, so I could explain I. Do. Not. Feel. That.


But believe me, I know the feelings.
And it's hard to tell your mind that when it feels enticed or fearful.
But it helps. Even the slightest bit, it helps.

-Em.