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Judith Shaylor Dec 2020
Nestled hiding in the dormant shadows you have waited
Thirty nine years to be precise
Panther black,
head forward you leap,
wielding your pure  hatred, like thick brown molasses spewing and trickling down my well oiled throat.
And as you spiral out of control, a bucket down a darkened well,
branch like claws snag the delicate flesh of my windpipe, mimicking thorns piercing soft pink rose petals as they collide during a tempest’s flight.
Your journey forces upwards a cruel gasping dangerous fanfare to a stranger’s ear not willing to engulf such a tortuous tune.
And as you rock to the right and left, pebbles in a rib cage, thrashing blindly in the suffocating solitude you have rudely entered into,
flaying around like a drowned rat, forcing unsoiled matter to its knees , you hunt.
Yes you hunt for your prize which lies cradled in a gentle pink veil of the bubble gum I swallowed instead of popped, during my infancy.
and  towards this crimson pulsating beacon you move and set to work, like children feverishly on a Christmas morning , ripping layers of festive paper to reveal the gift ,which  like they,
you have waited so long for.
Dripping salted sweat from this momentary toil, which as a consequence etches away the tissued muscle of my heart, you pluck it away from its hiding place, pummelling and remoulding it, the repercussions of your actions soon to show its ugly face.
As from today I will be broken, I will not be the same, I will be an altered state, yet with this obvious consequence you continue.
Jewels bedeck my crumpled face, the water pouring from sunken eyes, ebb and flow leaving two puffed mounds of bread like flesh to bring me now adorned eyelids.
A small stream burrowing deep into the creases of my cheeks uses gravity to mark its path, and too exhausted I fail to catch the droplets as they cascade to the floor, a broken string of pearls bouncing noisily into every corner, marking their trajectory with a high pitched potent ping.  
A breeze taken from someones final breath circulates my space, freezing the moisture sliding down my neck,  causing me to shiver and shake. I succumb now whole heartedly to your uninvited takeover, too many signals fusing my grey matter, dumbing my reaction, overloading the electrical impulses, a heavy shroud falling heavily around hunched shoulders, smothering me, smouldering the flame of life I once held onto and bringing with it the realisation that this twinning which has  just taken place will be here until, like the trigger, I have closed my eyes forever, and with this you burrow deep, copying the rise and fall of my chest, wallowing in this sudden recognition, not in any hurry for your final release.
Judith Shaylor Dec 2020
I walk upon this world of mine dreams are what my heart withholds Images of societies ills
is the bitter pill of life foretold
I hold the secret in my hand
the essence of my soul to tell
of dreams to which I bear the truth a scar of hope from skin it fell
And as I lurk amongst the shadows tall to think of life to which I bow
and gather up the dust filled air
entering lungs to which I don’t know how
To finally put all hate to rest
I exhale the poison ghoul within
This inner torment known to man
Which manifests through tightened skin.
Then to darkness falls the curtains aim to which the focus of my dreams unfurl and back to how I came to be
my feet on sodden log do birl.
and from this stance the world rotates treading water is my part.
to keep my head above the lapping waves and the wolves from my heart. ————————————————
Judith Shaylor Dec 2020
Flip the switch and out it pours filling the vessel to which it has been anointed
Casting eerie shapes as it dips and falls spreading it’s yellow hue
like honey gleaned from a ***.
Enveloping the darkness as it make its designated journey
Caressing and cajoling all on one spot
As the incandescent bulb it travels from swings like a hangman’s noose gently from it’s pivotal point from the ceiling
It tricks the lurking shadows out from their hiding licking the blackened perimeters loose.
Magic like a firefly in a jar it flutters and descends to the patterned rug
Burrowing deep within the weave leaving secret messages hidden within the woollen like shrug
Then as quickly as it appears a click fanfares its leaving and velvet stillness is their to weep treacle blackness bleeding.

— The End —