Were the room not so dark, Victoria may have seen how beautifully the curls in her hair reflected the light. How the yellow red hue played against the glass before her. The room was dark, though, and though the wall before her was made entirely of glass, no reflection was possible. She stared into it anyway, hoping as she did in her waking hours, that something would change. It hadn’t, at least not while she looked. It was only a deep blue, almost black, that never changed or faltered. Often Victoria had wondered why it was there, what purpose it served. Everything here, in the space she could move, seemed to serve a purpose but this. One small green light, fading almost imperceptibly every day, seemed to indicate some sort of lively hood, of this she was sure. It blinked, steadily, a pinprick in the darkness. She felt it was talking to her, without sound, a desperate plea that wanted what she wanted and knew what that might be. Should anything happen, she was not sure she could resist the temptation to pursue the meaning of this light. Tim, she called it. She felt, she knew Tim’s purpose.

But not this wall. Through its sheer immensity and darkness, it perplexed her. In fact, within the inner reaches of her mind she could hear herself say that it caused her fear. But she knew, living with it, that she must face it. So she did, in all of her waking hours she willed it to change. Looking on, forever.

The silence was broken, by a low monstrous moan. Formless syllables lined the deep groaning of a material beyond her comprehension. It belied forces that could crush something so fragile as her, were she to face it. Eyes widening, she looked up at something that seemed to be all around her, pounding her chest and fighting with her heartbeat for dominance in the forefront of her mind. And after seconds that seemed a lifetime, it was gone and she was left alone with the beating and churning of her organs.

Suddenly she was aware of her body, of her inner workings. That she was functioning, and through that she reflected this vessel she rode upon. She wondered what it looked like, how this outcropping or the next could be put to use. She reached up and grabbed her ear, and even in her tiny hand it seemed delicate. Was she, delicate? Or was it a perception induced by the unknown comparison of things similar to her? Desperately she wished to look upon herself, to know if, at the very least, she was as aesthetically pleasing as she believed.

Her thoughts disappeared quickly, with a discipline honed by an eternity absent of distractions. Thoughts like that, wishes, like that, would do nothing. Her thoughts clear she returned to her task, perhaps, she thought, her purpose for being here. To win over The Wall, should that be the end of it, or her, or anything at all, she didn’t know. She only knew that nothing had changed, so she looked.

Hours would pass before she would rest, and before the immense stamina of The Wall, she must conserve her strength. The focus that strained her quiet mind was still yet strong, and while she peered into the darkness, into silence and the unknown, she thought of Tim. She reached out, unwillingly, with thoughts of something she could not describe. She heard him clicking, the deep silence of the room making it impossible not to hear a sound made by electrons moving from one wire to the next. Maybe, she thought, I don’t speak his language. Perhaps this clicking is a desperate struggle to be understood, an almost silent plea to give unto her the knowledge she sought of The Wall. Perhaps Tim was not named so, but possessed a name belonging to a language she could not hear or imagine.

If It were so, it was sad. He persisted, perhaps for her benefit or to the benefit of nobody at all.

Maybe, he simply was.

It was the first time she considered such a thing, despite being here for so long. Her longing for the opposite was a physical pain she felt, not in any place in particular but in such a way it caused her to ache. A sound then, which she had not heard ever in her waking hours, brushed past her lips.

Her feet hit the floor with a solemn tone, but she ignored it. She was aware that footfalls made noise. She was not, however, aware that she could. She tried once more to create it, trying to force lungs to create a breath only those who had known physical struggle could provide. But she could feel it, moving within her throat. She tried pursing lips unfamiliar with the task, and flexing a throat never flexed. It was exhausting.

Wondering if it was in her head, she sat down, her attention drawn completely away from the wall. Inwardly she knew, that she was unfocused and that in this moment the wall was winning whatever downward spiral of a struggle they were in, but she did not care. The possibility of any new element was something her unexposed mind simply could not ignore. Hours passed.

She awoke in the place she had been sitting, as she did every time her consciousness returned. She got up slowly and felt her throat, the pain there was almost insignificant in everything but the fact that it was there. She had felt pain before, long before, when she did not know the dimensions of her universe. But this, she felt, was proof of the anomaly she had experienced. But how? How did that occur, she mused as she rose, moving to her left, to a wall she had defeated. Her hand ran down its flawless surface in a usual and practiced manner of searching for new elements, anything she could hold over The Wall she now fought. Though as it had time and time again, the frail light that Tim provided only reassured her that this wall was simply that, a wall. Nor were the next two she searched, carefully running her hands down each surface, taking extra care to circle Tim with her index finger in a way that could be said to contain love.

Her routine, if it could be said to be one, complete, she collapsed into the chair exhausted. The frail atrophied body she possessed done with its physical labors for the day. Hours passed, most of what could be called her day even, as she half-heartedly continued her dispute with her nemesis. She felt discontent for the first time ever. It had always been simple. There was The Wall, and there was her. One would win, eventually, through circumstances that had yet to be seen. She could not know how she or it would win, but-

Was it the wall? Is it trying something new?

A new feeling emerged as she felt her face grow hot, and were she aware of any color but Tim she would know her face flushed red with anger.

Have you stooped so low as to harm me?

She stood, furious. She had never felt these things before, but she felt empowered. Her limbs which had never known strength quivering with the adrenaline fueled rage of a titan.

You bastard! She screamed internally, approaching it with a raised fist. Two can play at that game, TWO CAN-

Her weight shifted against her will, and it seemed gravity increased. The long, powerful roar of the material encapsulating her bellowed in her heart and mind. Her legs nearly buckling, her hand melting from its iron state.

No, she thought. No I… this isn’t… I’m sorry I took it to far I’m sorry I-

Her weight shifted against her will once more, her legs buckling and sending her towards the wall at speeds she had never known. Her head clashed, with a deathly hollow sound, against the entity she called The Wall, and again with the floor, and her consciousness faded as she thought at Tim to save her.

He answered, unfaltering, as he always had, as everything faded to black.

She awoke, blinded, and thought that this was the end. The Wall had won with its powerplay, and she had fallen right into its plans. She struggled to get up, to see, and slowly it came to her. She saw Tim, in front of her, dead it seemed. His joyous and unfaltering signs of life had finally faltered, and he was gone.

She wept silently at the loss of the only thing she had ever enjoyed. Great waves of fluid rushed from her eyes and blinded her once more to her surroundings, and she was alone in the darkness. She was, she realized, still within her world, her knowledge. She looked at the wall, her body racked by silent waves of grief. Her body dragged behind her as she made a desperate attempt to reach it, so that she could give in. Take me, she thought, you’ve bested me, and I cannot go on knowing so. END IT, I…

Her words faded in her mind, wiped of all anger or sorrow as the wall responded. She looked on as it began to change. She looked and realized how close she was, inches from it, and she began to see. The Wall was merciful? The change began to grow. The deep blue of the abyss was changing, into a thing of light, the color shifted brighter and brighter until she could see things beyond her ability to describe them. They moved naturally through the abyss, paying no mind to her. She gaped in awe as she saw a new thing.

It was beautiful, she thought, as she looked. It was soft and kind, dotted with light brown flecks against a pale white background. A red, soft line, sat below some sort of structure protruding from the silky canvas, both equally as beautiful and curvaceous as the rest. Two small, embedded globes of white contained the prettiest thing she had ever seen, circles of emerald encasing a small black sphere. She felt sadness, and the liquid pouring down her face as she was reminded of her loss, and saw liquid pouring from it, as well.

The last time I saw him

in the mist of his oblivion

his footprints whispered goodbye

harsh rain soaked into my soul

I clung to him with tears of no return

the heavy weight of water pulled him

away from me into his vague future

I wish I could swallow more time

keep it safely tucked into my belly

before he floated away from me

stagnant air festers in my head

as my haunting words linger in air

pleading for one more chance

but I only hear the echo of my voice

reverberating in the empty night

“Please stay, oh please stay with me.”

I am left with little piles of memories

encapsulated deep within my heart

as he vanishes forever from my view.

so what am I to do, but to feel your knife brailled skin 

no doubt, the habits left me grated on desired smooth angles 

what does it matter...

pull me up a chair with the dishwasher or 

pull out the other, front house, head table

I can drink with anyone 

My reflection is such that it frightens me

With its transparency,

Its emptiness.

I see myself reflected in the panes of windows

And it is as though

I view my own ghost.

A fragment of reality impaled by sharp objects

From the world beyond the glass.

Sometimes I have ugly days. Not my face. Me. My thoughts. My heart.

I have days when cracking even a single smile seems like too much effort. When the world seems too bleak, people too selfish and the blue of the sky only appears to be a

never-ending grey. Days when i can't get myself to care. When no candle, no fire, not even the vastness of the sun seems enough to illuminate the darkness that settles inside of me. When i just lie, floating away with the waves, ready for the big wave to come and take me away, if it must.

When every word that I have to force out of my mouth seems to drain me off all the energy, how am I ever going to be able to muster up the words to explain to you why my eyes look void of light, my steps limp, and my love invisible.

Please give me a day.

Tomorrow i'll be back to the chirping and the jumping, but today,

I need the silence

Today, I must rest. 

The flesh doesn't blemish, nothings replenished, it just cries more

Meanwhile, detached souls bob at the surface, diminished in form

Mouths open to speak and out pours the driest sand,

for the deep Well of Love isn't a pool for play, nor a fountain for

quick

     cool

          lips,

looking to cure dehydration with a                 

swig

You built me up, brick and mortar,

As calloused hands urged me to climb.

You stitched me up, wings still bleeding,

As wilted feathers begged me to fly.

You picked me up from hell fires raging

As scorched lips prayed for my soul.

And I tore you down with tainted dreams

As these desolate eyes watched the world burn.

Twinkling lights

Behind closed eyes

With sandy beaches

Consuming dreams tonight.

Calming reflections

Of starry skies

Refracting and mirrored

In ocean tides.

See beauty resplendent

On this fervent night.

Please enter sandman

Before first light

To prolong this dream

Against hourglass grains

And revel in the peace

Until darkness drains.

Sisyphus had it good. Clever fellow, he knew he would! His own breath would to be sure to eventually give, but the eternal punishment for our human Hubris, by definition, must always live. Hence, was bequeath the task (as a pure matter of Fact) to those like us—equally propelled by this very same conceit, that subtle arrogance, our mental chic… King Sisyphus knew well of the perpetual problem of squaring the circle (a task writ vain, poised for defeat!)… And, too, of the critique of Time as not so much “Forever” but merely “Cyclical”… So he could be absolutely sure of passing his lot, which brings me to describing the burden we’ve currently got…

At the start Sisyphus was bestowed a steady sphere of toil, that Wisdom would slide back and remake but keep whole, pock marking it with doubt and slopping it with soil… Through the Ages heavy weights, like Confucius, Aristotle, Leonardo, Kant, Einstein and so forth, with the sweat of their brow up the hill the matter could still adequately roll, but progress in its stall has come to a devastating crawl…

The load now hardly moves up hill at all. The edges are nicked and cracked, reshaped sides have gone completely flat. And so we’ve pushed it thus far, and I in my feeble turn of mind, prod and heave and hoe, but this synthesis is now so stubborn and slow; oh, cursed is this block, it just won’t go…!