Sinburnt

Image Inspiration from http://magpietales.blogspot.com/2010/09/mag-31.html

Sinburnt

There was silence in her walk. When she turned and stopped to face the window, background noise slunk back into the room, forgiven for its intrusion.

I sat there and rubbed my hands together, feeling the flakes of loose skin fall away. Sinburnt.

Not allowed to hate myself. Not to embrace the cold, still day, to expire.

I did not create myself. Responsible, but.

I walked away, walked out the door, but she was there before me, before I could move.

Time was in schism, breaking moments to reset them.

I hung my head.

I could cut off my hands. Falling to the floor, bloody but inert. Defused. My tools gone, no future mistakes.

The radio in my head crackled to life “you do it to yourself you do, you and no one else.”

The walls erupted with sights. Other people’s. I turned away, but it was everywhere.

The diorama lapped at my feet with its tongue. Puppies were borne, were walked as dogs, were put down in old age. Books were written, and then burned. Civilisations rose and fell. And fell. And fell.

I picked up the paint brush. Broke it in two. My tools destroy this tool.

She handed me another. Her back was to the window now. She shone from without. From within. Her shadow wrote her name on the floor. Fate.

You did not create yourself. You are already forgiven.

I painted her image. It took years. Paintings Fell. And Burned.

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*please note that "you do it to yourself you do, you and no one else" is from the Radiohead song 'Just'.