Lilly Long
In the solitude of night, when it is just me and me alone, the urge to run overwhelms me. Always back to getting in the car and into the shadows of life. I want to live! It is in the pitch of wholeness when I feel time pass by me, each second of indecision an opportunity slips through my fingers and falls to the floor. More than anything I wish for action, I wish for escape, I wish for company. I look up to my faithful mother, hand to her waxen breasts as she manages to breathe the life back into my whittled dreams. Please, I wish for happiness, but I don’t know what that means. It is night where I demand the finer things, where the darkness can slip into me, and I welcome it home. It is when the stars dampen my protests, head shoved under the regular, and I fight up sputtering. My nails come back bloody for the grander life than that I live, some fictional addition that adds depth to the meaning. I’m chained, the observer in the bedroom, casting long glances to the uncanny streetlights below and the quiet darkness between them. Set my soul rightly into my body and be a part of me, not apart.