nonsensicalcouture
Wintery nights filled with scratchy raw throats and decadent sistersouls. She braids my hair weaving in daisies and stars, pretending to send innocence to my faded heart-shaped soul through dirty-coloured strands of hair. Restoring me.
We lay on gleaming ceramic floors giggling madly, watching the spinningspinning ground collide with rolling ceilings while creating solutions to non-problematic problems. The point is: there is no point. We don't believe in hidden meaning philosophies and between-line conspiracies. The confusion is in speaking the truth - embracing honesty. It's something you only learn from living a lie. (Living in paintings is never quite as glamorous as it seems.)
She dances around, twirling electric pink ribbons and midnight lace, shouting lyrics and quoting Nietzsche in off-key, high-pitched screams. Panting loudly. She tires easily these days, paying the price for perfect reflections. Somedays you can see her heart pounding against her ribs but it doesn't stop her from doing pirouettes and grand jete's (pas de bourre-releve' - is her version of walking anyway). She's become stronger and she's become my fuel.
This willow-y girl breaks all of the rules in the most graceful way possible, and I know I've found the only person in this mad-deflating world who gets me. (She's true.)
We whisper secrets while holding seances in pillow-filled, claw-foot bathtubs. Crystal candles flicker and we hold hands as we laugh and speak to our invisible guests. It's the only time we dissolve our elitist barriers - to include otherworldly creatures. (They are the only beings to which we feel we can relate.)
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The lethargic fairyboy who once read to me tales of mermaids and snow queens..but now only tells me of beasts and suffering - joins us on our roadtrip escapades to ghost town diners and jazzy-smokey deja vu filled bars. We scribble notes for future visitors on crimson lip-stained cocktail napkins, calling for love&peace, and maybe a little hope in our dreary-doomed world.
The boy is different from us now, and we can feel the entrance of Ghost of Friendship Past tugging on our sleeves. Too many fratjerks and bleach-blond teases have made him empty promises. And he no longer relates to our phantasma-esque existence.
When he does speak for the first time in what feels like decades, it's only to argue with me that the sky is powder blue after I have proclaimed it to be redredred(!!) "If colour doesn't truly exist," I argue back (knowing all of the right buttons to push. Buttons to bring him back to us.) "how can you demand that I see it as blue?"
He frustratedly bites his lip, trying not to laugh..and for a moment I'm convinced he is Adonis.
We glare at one another for a momentlike eternity, feigning disgust ..until she giggles loudly and tugs on our hands. Clasping them together. "We'll create our own colours, my deardear friends," she says with a raspy voice.
With this said, he sighs rainbow prism(ed) clouds of foggy pure air, and tells me he'll paint a truly red sky for me someday. (And I know he will. After all, isn't he the one who stained the flower with his pure beauty? Perhaps she is Aphrodite, his devoted queen, and I am a spectator in their reincarnated lives.)
His promise is enough to end our bitter-minute war though, and I offer him a dandelion stalk as my thankyou/apology. Crossing palewhite fingers that it will bring life to his wilted eyes. It does, and they dance with the fiery passion that she and I had been missing. We'd been craving their heated return, much like I would assume heroin junkies crave their next fix.
He begins to speak passionately of his anti-war epiphanies and free-tibet manifestations. He weaves spells while staring into a starless velvet sky.. and everything is okay again.
(Do you understand?) You nod your head, but it only proves to me that you don't. Our nonsense isn't something you can comprehend.
(We're devilishly clever like that.)
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Some of you expressed intense desires to join me in a new land.
I've buried the map in the most obvious of places, so hopefully someday soon you'll find it. (My sterling-petal(ed) world.)
((Find the vial that says 'drink me'__ then it's the first star to the right..or was it the left?))
Anon, my darlings, anon.
(I'm vacationing in the parallel.)