Cinderella lied to us
There should be a Betty Ford Center where
They Deprogram you by
Putting you in an Electric Chair
Play “Someday my prince will come”
And hit you and go
’Nobody’s Coming’
’Nobody’s Coming’
’Nobody’s Coming’
Cruel and distant seemed the ocean borne winds as they danced through the shades of his Castro St Apartment. He looked up, peering through the dark with his ever curious sea green eyes. Eyes that searched the starlit sky as tremors passed through his lips, parting them in a fever of childlike bliss.
They shone like blazing tears of fire. Tears which now threatened to contaminate the raw beauty of his fevered flesh. The stars fell, marring the face of heaven in their passing as the raw wings of twilight unfurled themselves along the horizon.
He lowered his gaze slowly, his body shivering as a horrible glaze came down over his eyes, fixed as they were upon some horrible and painful scene. His lips shook with the violence of his thoughts, his troat a prison of half choked words and phrases. Words that hammered, struggling to be free .. to be granted the decency of being spoken.
A chilling calmness seized his mind, distilled through his body, as he reached out –his fingers grasping, moving to touch something vital. Something or someone who had always given him pause, one who’s life he had once saved–in whose heart he had entrusted it all. For what?
For this?
A cruel whimper broke the silence of the loft, as he crawled rapidly, desperately over the floorboards to the window, chips of white paint fell and flew into the shadows with each rage inflected passing of his fingernails.
His angelic face, with flesh akin to stone, possesed of a beauty that could only be described as michaelangelic broke under the deperation and the fear he felt flood into his soul, he heaved himself against the windowpane, pounding against it with panic, shaking his head in heated denial..
No..
no..
GOD
NO!
The storm within his mind gave movement to his limbs and cast him about the apartment like a ragdoll. Fists flew through glass and mirrors exploded in view of his rage and desolation. A rain of poisoned shards cascaded upon him in cruel jest to the pain, the only pain he had ever just felt within.
When the loneliness and sorrow had grown too great to bear, he thrust his face through his precious bathroom mirror, he let himself go limp-gouges of meat stripping off his face-and fell with the shards over his sink, landing with a bone crushing crack on the cold tile floor.
The darkness of sleep lulled him and lured him into another day’s rest, yet around him throught him he felt the sting of each mirrored shard pierce his tender flesh.
And only realized then, as consciousness was finally , mercifully taken away, that they were in truth the shattered remains of his heart, upon which were written the name of his one, true love.
