I Built this Treehouse in the Ground
Chp. 10: Repeat to Forget
Remember.
I will not remember what you needed, what you ask of me, or of what would have never been mentioned until now.
My mind shakes.
It shakes its dark magnetic pieces into oblivion-- of what is now just this pile of ashes by my feet. That is why my name is a ______, my past is a b-l-u-r, and my future slips to crash in your hands. The second you leave is the second I pass.
I crawled and I crawled, but the floor, anyways, it moved underneath my feet. I tried to remember but what was left was scratching in Fall's Broken Retreat. I clawed and I clawed until my nails bled and my nose dug the dirt.
The monster could smell the back of my shirt.
I was only down to my last second, my last turn, my last mile--before the monster clawed my threads and slipped me into its lair. This lair was deep in the ground. Its ceilings were dirt, its walls were dirt, its pictures were dirt, and food was available in sorts. And quarts, quarts were left of the red leftovers of past friends and handsomes. They took me for granted. They shook me as my whites rolled over like a glass ball in a lubricated cupped hand.
Before the monster took its last shake and grasped my shirt. Before my head met the ground and my hair dug the dirt. As I fell to the floor and my end seemed to come to a perceivably sudden end.
Before.
I lashed out in letters and colors, and I eagerly shrieked, screamed and deciphered. I was naming the Torah, I was quoting Saint Peter, I was repeating Mayan prophecies, and down it dropped.
Down dropped that dirt, the dirt that ended up just like all dirt--kicked around. And They fled. Fear was newly instilled into that dark, damned creature.
My mind was then in a constant state of repeat, repent, and reprisal, but was numb altogether. Yet I slept through that night, as with every other sixth and first days of the weeks that followed. I slept through that night, one day prior to November, chilled to the bones with my numbers, my pages, and my letters. Vivid colors painted my night, six days after I remembered my sight.
Remember.
I will not remember what you needed, what you ask of me, or of what would have never been mentioned until now.
My mind shakes.
It shakes its dark magnetic pieces into oblivion-- of what is now just this pile of ashes by my feet. That is why my name is a ______, my past is a b-l-u-r, and my future slips to crash in your hands. The second you leave is the second I pass.
I crawled and I crawled, but the floor, anyways, it moved underneath my feet. I tried to remember but what was left was scratching in Fall's Broken Retreat. I clawed and I clawed until my nails bled and my nose dug the dirt.
The monster could smell the back of my shirt.
I was only down to my last second, my last turn, my last mile--before the monster clawed my threads and slipped me into its lair. This lair was deep in the ground. Its ceilings were dirt, its walls were dirt, its pictures were dirt, and food was available in sorts. And quarts, quarts were left of the red leftovers of past friends and handsomes. They took me for granted. They shook me as my whites rolled over like a glass ball in a lubricated cupped hand.
Before the monster took its last shake and grasped my shirt. Before my head met the ground and my hair dug the dirt. As I fell to the floor and my end seemed to come to a perceivably sudden end.
Before.
I lashed out in letters and colors, and I eagerly shrieked, screamed and deciphered. I was naming the Torah, I was quoting Saint Peter, I was repeating Mayan prophecies, and down it dropped.
Down dropped that dirt, the dirt that ended up just like all dirt--kicked around. And They fled. Fear was newly instilled into that dark, damned creature.
My mind was then in a constant state of repeat, repent, and reprisal, but was numb altogether. Yet I slept through that night, as with every other sixth and first days of the weeks that followed. I slept through that night, one day prior to November, chilled to the bones with my numbers, my pages, and my letters. Vivid colors painted my night, six days after I remembered my sight.
posted by Henry at 5:57 PM
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