Night time snare

If only it were morning, she’d breathe flowers on my skin. I need that pretty, cooling breath to quieten down my limbs. Armies the size of mountain ranges march in tiny footsteps, leaving trails of dulling tiny heartbeats, that desperate urge to move. My muscles tighten, lengthen, crush, head banging to nightclubs, please ice me with sleep. I crave it, urge it on to melt into liquid stars, to cool and soothe. Let’s walk in circles, deceive this demon, capture it in my night time snare. Puppets strings, invisible yet anointed with arsenic, silver strings that pull and push at my legs. Poisonous webs that cling to my veins, keep moving, you great convulsive machine! Frustratingly silent, no ghost of confession, what the hell is keeping my body from resting! I’m willing on daylight, for Night’s great cape to shift. The shimmering, dreadful gauze of fear, studded with gems, nonchalant stars. That hard, cold caramelised lid of unease, please turn into daytime, a comforting glow. As I write my legs are heavy and still, words cascade down the walls and fill rockpools of solace. I wander amongst them, bright underwater colours, reaching deep I pick a word at a time. Such beautiful things dripping golden water, they cool me and quieten me, diffusing night into dawn.