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Diamond in Regression

And They Are Covering Her in Coal

By Linxi Van RomanovskiPublished 6 years ago 2 min read
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She brushes her hair off of her face, it's not there, but she brushes it anyway. Repeatedly. Along with the tears, a constant stream of despair that she will not (she argues cannot) control; she was not always this way. A formidable matriarch, a diamond fist — much more than iron, stronger than gold, an incandescent wonder no man could withold. She was not of this world, but something greater; now something higher (or lower, you could argue but fear to go in that direction) has taken grasp and will not let go. She is not part of this world.

You've never seen a grip so tight, so compelling - unforgiving in its torment, unforgettable in its content. You had never seen silk tear it's self apart, you had never seen the ocean swallow itself (over the years, you have learned these are things you never should’ve known). She’s soaked to the bone and doesn't know how to swim, a flame cursed by ignition, tortured by each flicker, left to burn alone she will rage - engulf herself. Contained, observed she will engorge engulfing you. Lose - lose.

Living in twilight is like driving a car without headlights, you don't see the pot holes or the bumps in the road, your heart becomes accustomed to skipping beats and racing; the shock of a sharp corner, vertigo from the sudden drops. You think its funny how the body can cope with so much more than the mind can comprehend; you think it should be the other way around, there is no point to live in a perfect body with a mind that crumbles beneath itself.

You see the patterns, you understand depths of darkness like no one should ever know. You understand why children are afraid of the dark but you never had this luxury — you were forced to embrace it. Absence of light gives reasons for poor judgement, gives excuses for mistakes (you do not believe in excuses or mistakes, you classify them as experiences and explanations instead). If this is the price of the spotlight, you do not want it (as long as you think it is your choice, you can forgive their ignorance). Give me shadows, give me the dark and give me the cold.

Tie my hair in ribbons to hold these secrets, paint my lips with padlocks and glitter my eyes to sparkle in her blackness. This is past heartache and heartbreak, before the boys and their lies, before dying and death, before addictions and addicts, this is core and this is paralysing, this is her eyes glassed with mirrors, wet and wide — this is seeing your reflection and praying that is all it is.

She burns in circles, tides in station, and turns over on herself time and time again. She is not of this world and you cannot bring her back, guilt for the sake of feeling guilty cannot change this. You lose and you lose and you lose. She is a diamond in regression and they are covering her in coal.

surreal poetry
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About the Creator

Linxi Van Romanovski

An obsession with origin stories, I write and rewrite my own. I don’t need a happy ending, I just need to know there is something else, something other than this. Give me something worth believing.

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