This nightly isolation is not mine alone.
Look at them, afraid to touch, to be seen.
They tell themselves, like sacred litany,
If only I could be seen; could be touched.
If only, but then what? Would cure of abreaction,
perceived care of connection, provide sure solution
to the problem of what we are?
I have bias of unique cause for obscurity.
Mortals I observe seem caught up in unreasoned
torture. Ignorant judgments quickly devise to
tighten against acceptability. They fill themselves
with stories, reiterate the stories they have heard,
layer on impressions of ugliness. They plead for
beauty to befriend them. They give her no place,
no recognition. The primary rule chants never
take a chance of appearing a fool. Such reputation
becomes a slavering hound, never outrun scent of
disdain. Better to appear harsh, punishing, a threat.
Best to appear slick and easy, ready to take control or
fade away as the time advises.
I watch the games progress from territory outside common
view. Ultimately they all lose. There is no prize.
There are only self-fulfilling stories each of us take cover
in through the night.
I am so very weary of my story.
I sing myself bits of ambient melodies set to words
suggested by my surroundings. I sing quietly, less than
a whisper, reverberating inward to distract and soothe.
Sights, scents of those along my path mix into background
noise, discounted, uninteresting flickers beyond the shadows
I have an interest in tracking the still living dead on their way
to final transition. Beyond their depth, lost to the usefulness
of anything but subterfuge. They distract from overtold stories
with concern to not be caught, dissuaded, touched or seen at last.
That I see them, touch them unexpectedly, will be more fruitful
distraction. Finally seen, touched, beyond the reach of subterfuge,
does this solve your life, reward your search for meaning?
I suppose it is some recompense for mine. A monster can have
its uses. That is one of the stories I tell myself.
It sounds more soothing as a lullaby.
May the dead enjoy dreams of beauty, the dead that dream.