(1)

I'm disturbed and yet deeply
comforted by my disturbed nature
I'm comforted because my darkness
envelops me-
it may be cold to the touch
rigid and upright
not soft and loving
but it's loyal
it never leaves.

Today, I'm driving
window down to help me breathe
I capture cold air in my wind pipe
I smell November winter air
smoke from chimneys rising-
when I breathe out I'm smoking too
warm air penetrating cold air
I smell November winter air
we're still in October
it's too early for these memories
I'm unprepared- it's too early.

Sat next to me she appears-
a paler, younger, thinner self
a self I'm sure has passed on
to another life
if it haunted me we'd call her a ghost
but she comforts me
shall we call her an imaginary friend?

"You look terrible!" I state wilfully.

(2)

She's dressed in a thousand layers
"You still feel the cold, eh!" I say
She winks, staying aloof
from any possible conversation
I take a tone of similar indifference.

There she is barely visible
so unafraid of death
arms striped with incisions
a razor blade left behind
hip bones, collar bones, chest bones
she's nothing more
than a white sheath coat
pulled over the skeleton of
a human body
skin screaming for nourishment
to show any signs of life.

If I asked to feel her pulse
there'd be nothing there
no beat
no rhythm
"Maybe it's why the fear of death
has left me!" she commands
"Because in your muffled confusion
your muscles wasting
including your brain-
you mistake yourself for dead." I retort
"You're 21 for Christ's Sake!"

(3)

Distracted by a red traffic light
I turn away-
when I look back, she's gone.

So here I am
talking to myself
the ghost of Christmas past
disappears as soon as my back
is turned.

When I'm alone
the silence
is always louder
than any noise I ever hear-
the silence attracts her back
I reach out to her
trace her face with my finger tips
I whisper: "God Bless,"
knowing some memories are meant
to be laid
to rest.


© Sia Jane


Read on SoundCloud:
https://soundcloud.com/sia-jane-words/winter-air

I'm a ghost with a beating heart
trailing the earth, alive but dead
others viewing my dark mind as art
though i perceive it as a quilt sewn together
by the weakest thread.
So much is expected in the world of living
constantly pressured to be perfect
and if you fail it's not very forgiving.
The thing of life is that it's based on a society
this society sets the standards of your worth in life.
It is not known for its wide variety
I roam alone... not living by society but by me
I prefer to be an inspiration.
Everyone is their own individual
no-one should feel pressured to change.
Your soul should roam freely
not locked in societies cage.
The ones similar to I and are making their own path
are unaccepted, because they refuse to do
what is expected.
Typically the living world will
drive them to madness
and creating wounds on themselves
some wounds however
are not visible by sight.
Other wounds are created with weapons
during the night.
Many paths were started but never finished
because many had wounds
that couldn't even be fixed with stitches.
I however never breathe
i fill my lungs instead.
Join me in creating new paths
don't allow societies travelers to
lead you to self destruction
ending with you living under the flowers.
Finish your path
make it great , and do not quit.
The life form you have is lovely.
I started digging my grave, but instead
made a pond for the fishes.
Nothing is worth leaving your path unfinished.
Once you make it to the end of your path
the right way... then you may rest beneath
the stars, under unique flowers.
If it's your desire
you can finish another's path
and set their fears left behind on fire.
Society may be considered life's instructions
but life itself has none
so make your own and start constructing.
For I hope when you're done
the path was worth the trip.