30. D-o-l-l-h-o-u-s-e

..and when her silence was shattered, the splinters pierced the Abyss; lighting the embers with her madness..

Gather the tendrils as they dance through the shadows, and tangle them in repetition against your fist. Listen as the sweetest desolation plays as a symphony against the screams. Their melody sways beneath the whispers of a haunting smile, torn at the edges, and laced with the corsets of the pristine little souls bathed in ivory..

Pull them tighter..
Bind them to the rings against the Monster’s teeth..

Gracious door traced in ivy that swirls, lit by a shell with a dying flame still bracing itself against the hollows. Enter carefully, wistfully, as though your toes were tracing the sand in the storm brewing ahead and behind what can’t be held. What can’t be followed.

Shut the door behind you..
Flick the lock and mark the edges with secrets shed..

There’s a sheet where the girl with the stitched joy used to rest, lain in heaps, and folded at the center just so. Just at the ends where the folds are slit, and the curtains are drawn to keep the curious​ within. The answers hacked of assumptions are under the floorboards, and the ghosts of the present are boxed away with the Kay beneath the bed. Upon the bedpost. The knob against the ground where the roots are twisted and knarled to hold the dollhouse against the counter..

Marble never felt so smooth..
Trace the misconceptions till they are welcomed at the treasures keep..

Ecnelis met the binds with a smile, and in basking beneath the fallacies of anxiety; she was faced with her future.

She was faced with herself in the mirror of the Dollhouse.

Silence slipped from the constrictions of freedom, and from the ashes of sheer distinction rose who she’s always been. 

It’s a pleasure to meet you all.
He calls me His Kitten, now.

27. Gentle Disillusion..

blanket-fort-for-adults
“I have six fallacies covered, Sir. Care to add more?”

Live long enough, and you will run across people who alter and primp up the perspectives to which you’ve clutched so dearly. For some, this is a catastrophe! A dire misguidance which will tangle their little panties into a wad far too tight to be unbound by mere desire. For me, it’s something so deliciously enticing that it has spread a bated breath of scattered rays; the land otherwise quite dampened in shadows. So.. what does one do when they find themselves faced with a warmth that seems to splinter? A creation of glistening insecurity that slips beyond the damaging negotiations you’ve long had in good standing? Why, you build a suitable respite from the depths of your own illusions, of course!

In my case, you tear apart the anxieties for which you have become rather well known, and dust them off so that they hang with a little more agreement. You string them up, lacing them in little stitches with the darkest parts of fear, and allow them to pool down along the floor for an added affect of creation. You lay out the tender pieces of your silhouette, brush the dust from the corners where touches have been misled, spread a decadent little arrangement of scents and sights to twist the deviant mind frame into a hardship, and then you rest. Languidly stretching each and every way that is possible, to soak in the pieces of grace with which you know are yours; somehow.

This is my gentility of silence.

Not all days are as black as [my] Wonderland may have you think.

24. Even the wind changes..

lonely-little-hop-scotch-girl

..the problem is, Dear, that I don’t exactly care about the wind.

Some would say it is cruel, though personally, I find it more curious.
I have always been an internal creature.
Capable of analyzing, defining, or simply ignoring what wasn’t something to indulge the flippancy of my mundane musings.

To return to the thought in which I began, I find it fascinating, that someone can so intricately rearrange the designs of a person. Only to leave the freshest design a mess. To be a little more clear, Mr. Mis[s]ter has taken a step back, and though we still communicate as friends.. it is lacking. The pieces in which he so delicately altered, and shifted to allow for a bit of breathing room for the devilish p[u]r-fection within.. have all but been left in a discarded arrangement that makes no sense. Even to me.. and I’m capable of seeing something in nearly nothing, always.

It doesn’t bother me, so much as it leaves me tilting my head (ever so slightly to the right, which is habit). I know that within the darkness of my eyes is a flicker of question, yet, I simply don’t care enough to let them be fleshed from the tip of my thought process.

Will I be his? Probably not.
Will this bother me? I doubt such.
Do I believe there may be some portion of myself which is too deeply cut, to be sewn back together in normalcy? Aye, I actually do.

All things will be cast into the tendrils of light, eventually, and this shall be no different. For now, I will continue in my exploration of enjoyment for what has been awakened. It is not often I allow my nature to come forth, and I don’t rightly feel like caging it again. Not yet. Not yet..

The comfortable path has never been my chosen way of things.
It never shall.