Friday, August 08, 2008

With one foot cold and one foot warm
I am watching the still people
Heavy-eared and large mouthed
I smile and they smirk, raise an eyebrow, cough.

Am I that despicable?
Is my hair that gold?

Now I am invisible and I let the noise in
Pale, scented tendrils caress and plait my hair
Like candles
They flicker and whisper, fling kisses into my ear
And burn things into my neck-skin.

Can no longer breathe.
Can no longer listen.

For fear of disturbing them.