Vermeer

A dull, numbing pain.

Pain that poisons,

Poison that colours,

Colours to paint.

Matching the hues and tones,

Of the sky, sea, and soul.

Streaks running down the page,

Strips flailing in the cooled winter air.

Erratic Behaviour

Aurora

Pew! Pew! Pew!

Channels of pure energy jets through the cables,

Catalysing with the filaments,

Magnified by glass,

Penetrating the pitch darkness.

The light cannons ejaculating blinding beams at a flick,

Rotating and swiveling by a gentle push,

Parallelly wired in identical sequences,

A symphony of lights.

Erratic Behaviour

Wait, Mama; Wait.

Channeling spirits into a vault,

Summoning with a wild cry.

Transforming child to man,

A fascinating transition as a changeling.

The blue boy bit her toes,

Eyes full of hungry souls,

A ravaged mindless being,

He gnaws in her remains.

Dusty hairballs cluster around the fringes,

The lone singer wrangles with his laundry,

The northwesterly wind bays,

Sending him plummeting off the cliffs.

Erratic Behaviour

Warships

The waning winter's sun strokes the tips of the skyscrapers,

Perforating the lower, and much denser body of the concrete goliaths with its last light.

Vacant vessels drift mindlessly around their anchoring point,

Left to wander freely on a leash until daybreak comes.

Glistening in a reverie,

The soft lapping waves curl up against the piers,

Caressing the weathered timber with a motherly touch,

Ageing and bleaching it without a sense of time.

Erratic Behaviour

Sand Man

A hint of singed hair taints the air.

Lingering within my nostrils,

Clinging by the remaining hairs.

A monumental nasal flavour.

A searing flash was all I could remember.

One moment the sun being down over my hunched back,

Another, the sun teasing me awake.

A shrill ringing, yet somewhat peaceful.

Blisters formed over my burns.

My skin resembled pork crackling,

Largely charred, crispy and cracked,

The taste of home.

Erratic Behaviour

Jessica, Was That You?

Standing behind the doorway,

Creeping around in the shadows,

Treading lightly over those creaky floorboards at the foot of the stairs,

The bells chime at twelve.

The solitary bulb hangs precariously over the counter.

Dangling in its nakedness,

Flashing its filament in the heat of the moment,

An exhibitionist of delight.

Deviant thoughts flying through your naive mind.

Whispering forbidden words,

Taunting and tempting,

The poisoning of a great mind.

Erratic Behaviour

Pioneer

Do you like to dance?

One hand on my shoulder,

The other clasped around the dimples of my back.

Would you dance with me?

Rage.

A passion for the intense fantasy.

Delve into my nasty mind,

I'm not just upright.

Flesh as a currency,

Reaches for a penny.

Not many afford the pleasure of my company,

Hence cleaning up after yourself seems the likelier way to be.

Erratic Behaviour

Sight, Unsightly, Insight

The words spilling out like explosive diarrhoea,

The deafening honking brought by the onslaught of vehicles,

The tide of tourists sweeping in from the foreign shores,

A cacophonous racket that digs deep and lodges itself within the mind.

It's like living in a washing machine.

Erratic Behaviour

Love in a Box

Within the confines of a coffin-like chamber resides a brown plush creature.

Suffocated by a clear plastic bag,

It is trumped away from its birthplace,

To it's new home.

Meant and designed for mummies,

Linen bound and freshly embalmed,

The child is transferred from hand to hand,

Last respects to be paid before eternal rest.

Erratic Behaviour

The Wait is Over

There was a man who walked a hundred miles a day,

Over hills of ice and land of stones.

He traverses over difficult terrain and endearing conditions,

To get to the tip of his point.

Soon now, my child...

The wait is over.

Erratic Behaviour

Stacked

Tippity toes,

Crinkly brows.

Downwards frowning,

Creasing forehead.

4 by 4 is a commoner,

Linear and boring like every other.

3 by 5 adds a little twist,

Spritzing up the palette with a cringe-worthy touch.

Erratic Behaviour

First Period

It's just like any other day, me stirring in class whilst you bustle around trying to look busy, covering for me.

Feeling a little detached today, I decide to freshen up, escaping the moody and uneventful class; to stretch my legs.

It felt good, being able to stand after seated for so long. My blouse felt heavy, the fabric damp and adhering to my bottom. Naught was amiss from that. I sweated excessively, and unfortunately, bum sweat was unexcused.

The class was quiet as usual, after all, it was Bloomish's class. I suspected a majority of my fellow covenant brethren were taking a snooze; a little shut eye now and then was actually rather beneficial.

Breezing past my fellow classmates, I inched nearer and nearer to the aged teacher. From afar, he looked to sport a head of white; but as I sidled up next to him, his hair appeared more silvery grey than anything I've seen before.

Details. They've always intrigued me. The little things many of us overlook, take for granted, and simply ignore.

"Sir, may I go to the bathroom?" I squeaked meekly. Pausing from his monotonous droning about plurals and nouns, he peered at me through his tortoiseshell glasses and mumbled intelligibly for a few precious seconds, before turning his back towards me; resuming from where I interrupted.

Taking his slurred mumbling as a yes, I quietly trudged out of the dank room, trembling with excitement, knowing that I would not only pay a visit to the loo, but also to the park beyond the church compound.

* * *

At my own unmatched pace, I lumbered down the empty hallways, savouring my newfound freedom.

The last few steps before entering the ladies room felt odd. I felt a mysterious syrup like fluid trailing down the inner walls of my thighs, gumming them together. Every other step felt squelchy with strangely warm lubrication, like the innards of the freshly slaughtered cow I saw cook tend to yesterday.

Apart from that, my torso seemed lethargic from my little stroll. Exhausted even.

My hands trembled as I reached for the brass tap mounted on the cracked porcelain washbasin. Steeling myself, I grasped the edges of the sink to give myself strength. Slowly, I hoisted my near slouching body up, parking myself directly parallel from the floor-to-ceiling mirror.

I was bleeding.

The Lion's Maw

My master is calling.

He flails his mace and cracks his whip.

He whistles between the cracks of his teeth,

God help me, for each time I succumb to him.

Erratic Behaviour

Blood Mage

For hours it persisted,

Pearls of crimson blossomed,

From the narrow slit they emerged,

The sap of my limbs unadulterated.

Erratic Behaviour

Until The Blood Dries

The keen blade glimmers slyly in the peeking shafts of light,

Unsheathed and malicious it lies.

Swift and nimble his fingers are,

Beautiful ellipses and fibres tear and falls away as he smites at them with the feral blade.

Blades; like fire, they heed no master.

A slip in contact is life and or death.

Peals of crimson globules accumulate at the exit,

Excited to be unleashed of its imprisonment in veins; free to cajole and oxidise in the open air.

The cheeky tip of the blade embeds itself in flesh, gently scraping against the bone; sending chills that tingler and resonates throughout his nervous system.

A brief pause;

Then nothing.

Erratic Behaviour