Siren

there's blood in my hair

...

Stop screaming, stop screaming, foul creature whose face I do not recognize. Stop screaming, so shrill, so grating, stop screaming.

Why do you wail? For who do you shed those tears? Why must I watch you, be subjected to your horrendous pain, listen to the catch in your breath when it seems as though you are finally about to drown. You continue, you continue and I lash out at you, to silence you.

No, I do nothing. But why? And how? Where are my arms? My body, where am I-

Who am I? Who are you? What do you hold there, in your arms? It is covered in blood and shadow. A limp, scarred body, it seems to be. Whose corpse do you grasp? And why do I care?

Why, when you leave this place, so heavy with grief, am I tethered to you? I am forced to follow, to observe each miserable moment. Who now, do you speak to? Who now, do you catch as they begin to cry, just as you had before? Why do I still watch?

You both sit beneath the willows, so somber, so silent. The small one, she no longer cries. She sits, just as lifeless as that body you say you buried. A small rat grabs at her, desperate for her to find reality, to no avail. I might find joy in the sorrow, if not for that tinge of familiarity.

Who are you?

-

A century goes by, or perhaps, just a few hours. I do not know. My perception of time, it has evaporated.

It is daybreak now. The small one, she withers away beneath that tree. You had to pick her up and force her back into her room, into her bed. But she returned to her place not long after, I watched.

Now I am forced to accompany you into the woods, off to see that mess of a body once more. You lied about burying it. You lied, and now you speak to it… why? What did that thing mean to you, to the small one? What does it have to do with me?

If I had a mouth, I’d be screaming at you. If I had my eyes, I’d be crying. But why?! Damn it, why?! Why has your pain infected me, why do I feel it so strongly?

If I had a heart, it might ache for you.

You’re back beside the small one now, you coax her, but she does not move. You grab her, and I want to tell you to stop. Why? Why, when you shout at her do I wish you wouldn’t, not because it interrupts my thoughts, but because I know it makes her cry? Why, when she begins wailing, I desire not just for silence, but for her to feel peace?

You scream back, louder. You say a name when you mention that body, a name that reeks of familiarity. The two of you go back and forth, and the name you call the small one, that one reminds me of home.

Home…?

I wish to comprehend what the two of you are saying. I know, I know, I know it’s about that body, so why then, why, why, why do I feel as though it’s truthfully about me? Who am I?

You say you’ll leave to make the dead one happy, and I want to tell you that it wouldn’t make me happy. Why would I want to tell you that? Who are you?

If only I could think.

Stop talking for only a moment, so that I may think. Stop.

Stop talking, stop talking, please oh please, let me think, let me understand. Stop crying, the both of you, stop it, stop it, stop it!

…

..

.

I’m here!

Let me shout it to you Stevie, you must hear it! Let Stella hear it too!

I’m right here!


...

i had a dream that i was drowning everyone i've ever loved