My Heart's Field

My heart's field is narrow, slipping along the undulating grass and crying over the snipped flowers of my soul. I house a garden that is ill-formed and barely tended to, with little specific purpose, other than to cope with my own momentum of time. In staccato, my breathing shakes as I jog along the bare backed road. Raw and emotional, I scrape myself along the road, black mascara streaming down my cheeks. Eyes fogged, I misjudge my steps, my broken high heels scraping mercilessly across the harsh bitumen, tripping me up.

I stumble as I run, heels escaping a close fall. Eyes fixed straight ahead, I do not wish to look back. Slivers of remaining night shimmer, like fractured window panes, glinting with the grit of shattered days. Empty frames swing in the breeze, alight with the cosmic blues, silvers and greens that saturate the night's wrath. Worlds that I have exited, yet still stubbornly flail in the whipped breeze, refusing to vanish from my conscience.

Twisting and turning my body, I manage to escape contact with the oppressive framed memories. Standing in half shadow, I feel the sonnet of my soul reverberate its way through the raging reds swirling inside. It is raw and raspy, echoing with my heart's panic. My deep, dark shadow slants in the breeze, highlighted by a thin sliver of moonshine. It is the depths of my blueprint, which linger in this descending darkness. A pattern of history that I have built, yet wish to deconstruct and escape, tearing into the soul of that dark, lurking shadow.

How can I leave myself behind? It is strange, this existence, to have bled oneself into the blurs of day's canvas, in such a way that I have almost forgotten who I am. A numbness has kicked in, ticking with madness across the plains of my skin, creeping its way deeply into my soul. My deepest desire is to slash my way through the deep set fog and break its forceful grip on my life.

The field is wide in loneliness, steps that I forge and repeat, nonsensical in my search for peace of place. A disorientation has mastered my mind, flashing with lights of memory that leer at me from a distance. Ones that I cannot reach, leaving me stranded and panicked.

Plastered across my body and sculpting my breasts, are the fluttering remains of the dress I wore this evening. A hot purple, which complimented my deep blue eyes. As the night cast its shadows upon me, parts of my dress tore away from my body, streaking the air with my raw desperation to escape the craze. The electro beats reverberated through my torso, propelling me to dance freely, transcending the mass of hot, fevered hands that clutched at me.

Now as I stand, patches of my bare skin shiver in night's coolness. Alone and raw I present myself: chisel-like with a shaky inner strength that attempts to burst out of my heart's narrow field. Closing my eyes, I attune myself to the depths of my panic, watching light be swallowed by darkness. So many voices propel from my erratic field, crying across the fleeting breeze of banishment. It is a world that I carry in my chest, digging deeply into my soul. Its difficulty and burdens have latched themselves onto me and are difficult to shake off.

In my dreams of free existence, my field is wide and welcoming. My feet glide gracefully across freshly mowed grass, adorned with buds of a myriad of flowers. I am elated, drifting somewhere above the ground, absorbing the wondrous hues of day's light. Reaching through the patches of blue sky, like fairy floss, I can clutch at moments that suit me and dare to face life.

I wonder, what is life, really? If we were to strip ourselves bare and blend with the old existing cosmos, shrinking into a tiny formation, our absence would leave a greater space for something. A new existence in new field, without the traps and trimmings that we impose upon it. Our scars would no longer have to bleed and heel.

I wonder, how would I be? Would I finally be free of this darkness?