bird thoughts with poe

[gamemaker kelsier]

p o e .

"If it all ends, and it's over
If the sky falls fire
Best believe me, you will see me
On the other side"

It's in the last week or so of spring that I realize it's warm enough to sleep outside again. I sit on a stranger's bed with my back against the wall, watching the way the sun slowly creeps in and paints the walls of the room pink. She rolls over in her sleep, last night's makeup smudged on her eyes. I didn't get a name, she didn't give it, but when her head falls in my lap I stroke her hair back gently. I think my love language has always been this, the quiet offering of comfort without any hope of a return.

'Thanks for last night - x'

The note seems like a good enough goodbye. It's not like either of us wanted more than this and the idea of still being around when she wakes up just sounds uncomfortable. I shoulder my bag and am out the door by seven.

It's too early to bother my friends, or maybe just too late. Saturday nights see us thrown across the district, all embroiled in some sort of mischief. It's earned us a bad name at school but I don't mind it. I love being part of a whole.

But I'm afraid sometimes that I rely on my friends too much. I never wanted to be a burden, never wanted anyone to feel like they had to love me. Though I know that's exactly what I want, always. I can't bear the idea of being disliked. I'm just too stubborn to admit it, or maybe I was just raised by a shadow and that's why I'm always chasing them.

Breakfast is a danish from Magpie's. It's at least a little healthy if candied fruit and layers of real butter wrapped in pastry count. I shut my eyes as I chew, wondering if I ever would have learned to love the taste so much if I hadn't run from home. My father used to order a whole box of them to the house every Monday, just like that, all because my mother said she liked them once.

Birds rest on the edges of the fountain in the middle of the square and the last of my pastry goes to them, little torn up pieces clutched in their greedy beaks.

I know how this looks because I crafted the moment. With my clothing, tidy and expensive and my dreads pulled back into a ponytail, I look like just another rich kid feeding the birds my excess. My family is old money, my father always made sure to teach me how to act in public. I know how to bow seven different ways, what all the little forks and knives are for at dinner and what order to use them in. I can ride a horse, spar relatively well and used to wipe the floor at chess.

I just don't see why I'd do any of those things anymore. I don't think it matters what spoon I use to eat my soup with, it doesn't change anything.

Things are as they are and one day, I know everything will change again. I can feel my father's patience wearing thin, it won't be long until he stops leaving out money for me, won't be long until he changes the locks. School will end soon, we all only have a year or so left and I don't know what will happen to us. I guess we're going to have to grow up.

I never planned that far ahead, I didn't even plan for how cold winter gets. I just know that I can't go back there, to the house haunted by my mother long before she died. There are too many ghosts and I won't admit that I'm a coward.

I'll just feed the birds all I have left.

elegant

[gamemaker kelsier]

p o e .

"I could lie,
say I like it like that,
like it like that"

It's always when I'm least expecting it. I guess that's why they call it an attack.

We're watching a movie in English class and there's a lady, eyes red and laying in an empty tub. The lights in the class are dim and I sit at the back, head in my hand. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears.

It starts in the corner, ink slowly spreading from under the door, water pooling on marble and streaming down the corridor of desks towards me. It laps at the feet of my classmates as the lady cries in the bathtub on screen. I don't remember what this movie is about, something artsy I guess. Mrs. Clorvin loves having us dissect poems and overanalyze pictures until they become blurs in front of us.

It's always about the metaphors with her.

It isn't a panic attack, not quite.

My eyes are squeezed shut and I'm already counting under my breath even as the sound of rushing water overtakes me. I don't know when the nightmare started coming in the day time too. I can't remember the first time. It feels like it's always been here, long before it all happened.

There's a voice beside me, a little laugh. The movie has moved on but my socks are wet. I almost slip on the marble beneath my feet as I slowly move down the hall, headed upstream.

I can't seem to move my body. I know that I probably could if I tried, but I can't. I'm stuck gazing at one tile in particular as my whole body goes tight as I forget to breathe. Maybe they'll just think I'm sleeping again.

My heartbeat jitters around the sounds of the film, which is suddenly too loud. My skin greets the sound, my ears wrap around it as I stop in front of the door to my parent's rooms. Water gushes out from under the door and I stare at the handle, unable to grasp it.

Because I know what's inside.

I always already did.

elegant

[gamemaker kelsier]

p o e .

"You're put together but clear
You're lacking substance not fear"

They stand there in the space where the sun once stood.

Where it will stand again.

Their fingers are cold even with them stuffed deep into their pockets. They've been outside too long and gone past the point of warmth. Snow falls slowly, it'd started light an hour or so ago but large flakes formed fast. Now the ground looks as if someone sifted icing sugar all over it.

They lean back closer against the wall behind them. There's a slight overhang above that does little to guard them from the snow. A lighter appears in front of them and they fumble with it for a moment, clicking it on and holding the flame cupped between two hands in an effort to gain back feeling.

The winter paints everything grey. The sun rises without notice. Soot from the factories falls with the snow and by tomorrow afternoon, the ground will be as muddled as the sky.

They don't do well in winter.