I don’t know who she is...But she stands nearby
Giant and peculiar with great delicate hair
Hollow eyes of glassy reflection
Blue tinted skin that shows gray in the light
Why stand there beside my door?
Does she want something, could it be me?
I never see her, yet I know she’s there
Wearing a sunhat by my moonlit bedroom
Velvet book sitting tame on my arm
Why stand there alone?
Even though your presence frightens me
And your eyes suffocate me
Your hands alarm me, why not come closer?
I’m asleep but my mind is awake.
My journal lies open for her to read
Looking as though I’m in a sweet slumber
My hands twitch in a worried seizure
My fingers want to move and hold itself together
but the blood doesn’t flow
She stands static by my door
A fresh pungent scent, of undergrowth,
leaves forming around a damp swirling root
They are birthed by the spine,
and eight legs crawl out unforgivingly
Its wet leafy roots steal away my journal
Imitating a skittish Araneae
It crawls towards my door frame
I don't want you at the door
Same place and time as always
Are you waiting for me?
Have I taken something that perhaps belonged to you?
I doubt it.
I think that you are curious
but solely because you’ve done something to me, What are you waiting for?
Come after me!
Steal me away with your nonexistent hands.
I'm ready. I'm waiting-and the wait is breaking me
Even your posture bothers me
Why stand by my door?
All bent and crooked like an old crippled crow
Your peculiar bend scares me and has me wonder
How come you are shaped like a dying flower?
I could think logically like any other human being,
that your absurd height forces you to stand uneasy.
But to me it almost seems like...
your interest in me has misshapen you that way.
I don't even know your name? Who are you?
Are you a lady or something disguised?
What makes me the test to your devious plays? When will you stop waiting? What are you seeking?
To me that is unknown...
Skeletal fingers pick up the violet leather book, Ghost hands smooth over the crisp sheets
Roots quickly fall back inside the spine
And exist never again
Green ink shimmers from the side
The lady bends her head
Peering down to read my work
Her nails underline each sentence
Denting the paper as she moves along
Invading my internal composition
Through the curves and lines that form my language
Why visit me at night when I’m hoping to rest?
Though surprisingly your presence never has much effect.
The fact that I never see you in the day occured to me
You hide in the dim lit corridor
only the sparkle of chandelier exposes your identity
How many more years do you plan to stay?
Only visit and never greet?
She slowly pulls the writing close to her face
Licks the letters one by one
Stopping momentarily to smack her lips
To savour the flavour
The book is set free to the ground
Roots sprout once more
The violet leather bound walks itself to my bed
Climbing onto my sheets and perching back on my arm
Roots slowly disperse and disappear into the spine
Are you spying for someone else?
Sharing experiences through your eyes to theirs?
For I know you cannot speak
Can you enter my room?
Have you ever felt…
The cool wood beneath your corpse feet?
When I'm asleep do you come touch me?
Caress my forehead and comb my hair?
Sometimes I swear I’ve felt your pond-cold skin
Do you love me or do you hate me?
