The quiet mist caresses the distant mountain top, the sky crying onto the fragile leaves far below.
The early morning breathes chillingly across my stony face, the chirping of birds settles the
deafening silence.
Memories race across my mind, memories of an unforgotten fear, that I know I must return to,
however unwilling I may be.
The shadows dancing on the walls, the bugs that wait to once again inhabit my skin, the loneliness
of sickly sweet friends in a clinical coffee shop.
Ghosts whisper into my mind, of pain I constantly try to forget.
They tell me love isn’t real, the scent of lavender will always be overwhelmed by the stench of
fearful sweat, and miserable rotting flesh.
In a fleeting attempt not to listen, I walk back inside, leaving the ghostly chills of morning behind,
for the warmer, sweeter feeling of blood red rum.
It’s not long before they find me again, reclining by the fire, trying to smother my body in loving
warmth.
The cold wind blows them in through an open window, I sing drunkenly to shut them out, but they
don’t leave.
Their voices, louder than mine, closer to the ear, tell me blood is warmer than fire or alcohol,
warmer than love or laughter.
I stand, to shut the window on their vicious vocalisations, yet they are within me now, I feel them as
the glint of sharp steel reflects itself throughout my mind.
I shake my head, just the ghosts, just the cold, nothing more.
But I am possessed, my eyes dart around, every chirping bird, barking dog, and rustling tree
becomes a sinister voice.
I find myself convulsing, hands shaking, throat closing, the heavy hands of fear grip me tightly.
I want to feel like myself again, be in control again, the pleasantness of an early morning and a
beautiful view dim in the darkness of my fading heart and mind.
Lost to the nothingness, my mind is blank, should I fight them any longer? Would any part of me
remain in the end if I won?
What if I just…
Let go.

A graveyard shifts by, headstones become skyscrapers, ivy becomes great dragons and serpents
before my own blurred eyes.
Trees stretch, limitless, endless, into the sky and beyond.
I am hidden, held by the cobblestone and twisting vines of ivy, my greatest friends in the world are
the sturdy stone graves, all around me, holding me, as do the great walls that surround us all.
A society of stone, a morbid castle, seemingly of my own design.
I fall beside a grave, my straying hands stroke the cold stone, the stone speaks, and I hear his jokes
and laugh with him.
A crown of ivy fit for a sorry king rests about my lulling head, a third eye, that sees all I thought I
forgot.
Though aware this venture is nothing more than a drunken escapade, I find comfort in its
pointlessness.
I suppose I will return to damp, dust and darkness soon enough, but for now I can wallow in
suicidal recklessness and peace, among the other dead.
© Kenny Phoenix