Gloom rocks back and forth in that old rickety chair,
Weaving a noose in her lap when Perfection draws near
Singing a song of cheer.


"Hello, Gloom!" he greets.
"Hello, Perfection." Gloom greets.
"What may I do for you today?"
"No, Gloom." Says Perfection,
"What may I do for you today?"


Gloom sighs. "Well,
Your fingers will do well to weave this noose for me,
Won't they?"


"Aye! They will!
They will knot a noose so fine and well
It will be the finest noose ever woven!"


"Well, yes,
I suppose so.
Here, the noose.
Have a seat,
While I go to snooze."


And upon getting the noose,
Perfection weaved...
And weaved...
And weaved...


"Curse it! No good!"
I must unravel this!"
And unravel this, he did.
And his fingers went to work a while.

"Ahhh...look! A piece of fiber!
If not perfect, I will be seen a fibber!
I'll weave this again!"


"And again!"


"And again!"


"Oh, no!
Not quite yet.
Argh! my brow has broken a sweat!"
Time and time I have spent!
Why will this noose not be perfect?"


"Oh, Gloom...
Her work imperfect be
And now mine alike.
Oh no...
I cry. I cry.
I'll tie this noose and die!"

The only person that listens to me is my external dialogue
You call it schizophrenia, I call it a duologue
But in reality it's just, it's just that in a group of two
I am my own leader, subject, enemy and compeer
Born out of a fear of being alone, my mind began to sere
And unintentionally planted a voice into each cerebral hemisphere

"There are two types of people in the world," he laughed after a heavy swig. I laughed and anticipated a mindless reply.
"Those who are pens, and those who are pencils".
An eye-roll dismissed the statement but a curious brow stayed in place.
"All I'm saying is that some folks have a certainty about them. Everything glides off their tongue like cursive dipped in black ink".
I thought of where I might fall on the spectrum.

“Peace on earth and goodwill toward men,

HA!

What a lot of spoilt berries that is…
They’ll come around in due time, due time, due time…
Sure they will,
They will come around when they need something,
When life’s got them down,
Oh yeah, they’ll be calling out to you, you sucker…

HA!

Their hearts are what? Whatever that means,
It’s just useless with you, all trial and error but nothing after endless, endless errors?
Why won’t you just give up and concede that I have won?
I have you know…

Who?

You know-it-all who knows nothing at all about these animals,
Abounding love; a principle of heinous fish guts peppered about in a humid swamp of detritus!
You boor me so…
Peregrinating pompously and presumptuously until paused as Procrustes pontificates on my behalf!
You’re a loser, and I think, I think you know it.

Ha!

I’ll have them carve you the most magnificent sarcophagus ever seen…oh yes, it will be…
All you gotta do is lie in the bed they made for you!
Admit that I have won!

Mellitz,

"Has won…”

"Never jump into the **** of Elk horn sideways,
              it'll make you ***** and chiropractors can't fix that!"

Yes, we can talk in secret
You brought me flowers?
Thank you

No, you're not like them
Not like the other guys
Yes, you're special

Why?
Well, you got a mole right there
No, the one on your forearm

Serious, though
I like your mindset
Open-minded

Oh, more?
I think you have the prettiest eyes
You blinked

Yes, I love them
Close my eyes?
Now, me

Really? Kind?
That's lame
Okay, fine

I do believe you
Cool, I'm cool
You, too

I'm down
We can go now
Yeah, just us

"But, the ******* screaming you know?"

Lavender

"You know like the lump, the lump in my throat. I cant breathe anymore"

Rips the flower from the bush.

"-- And I just, I just. ****"

Rubs the lavender petals between palms.

"The ******* screaming. Are you listening? The screaming"

Puts hands up to face and inhales the smell of the crushed flowers.

I found myself in Putney
after many stupid years.
It was a worthless day
before spring comes with all its biting powers.
There was nothing there in Putney
but that February hearse
and all the villainy of incredible memory
born out of pointless love and hope that blackmails.
There was traffic there, that endless vicious fume
of noise; and litter blowing pointlessly;
savage parents; hard and worried kids;
the thundering mess of London all around;
a hop of sparrows on that pointless ground.
I found myself in Putney
where I lost myself so many stupid years ago,
and by that withered house a withered love arose.
“Ah, love,” I whispered, “why have you arisen?”
“You acknowledge me?” she said.
“Of course,” I answered.
“Put your arm across my breast,” she said.
“Touch my still hair. Weep plentifully.
“Let your poor heart break. Strike here across my cheek
“To know what you have lost.”
“My love,” I whispered, “why have you arisen?”
(From the withered house the years were toppling.)
“Stupid questions from a stupid man.
“You loved me and you lost me.”
Then the roar of London hurt my head.
I saw a man go down a street
Where no street was, where no man was.