Handcuffed politely to the bedpost of his inspiration, he is optimistic that this time the limits of self-imposed constraint will be breached, if not brutalised entirely. ~ ‘Don Quixote’ - a whimper of metaphor; ‘DoN QuiXoTE’ - a rush of chiming vowels; ’DON QUIXOTE’ - a panic of ecstatic prosody. ~ Ignoring his aching wrists and with imagination unfettered, he reaches for paper and pen, and begins.
‘Somewhere in La Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember, a gentleman lived not long ago, one of those who has a lance and ancient shield on a shelf and keeps a skinny nag and a greyhound for racing.’ - Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote
I am your safe word Say it however silent you need to I am your calm when unsteady hands shake We are too torn for the light we are trying to ignite in each other I fancy your beautiful I will soothe the trembles in your mind even when she is standing next to you She can't see you Stop trying to show her the broken bits that I have crafted for my silver lining I see your scars And I am trying to embody to you what it is they mean to me I love you It came, it came out Like waterfalls, like rainstorms, like hearts leaking not yet ready for touch You're fragile And I love you I am not sorry I will never be sorry I love you I am where you are free, this here is your truth And you are trying to run away from me I am not scared of your light You are made, crafted, pieced together from remnants of the sun I did not mean to fly so close to you I am not trying to end as Icarus does I am not willing to let us ruin me.
This piece is an unfinished story of two people I care for dearly, whose story I am attempting to put to paper.... Hopefully there will be more to come from this.