A special piece that means a lot to me and is dedicated to Janice - this is our collaboration, love - our inky paper treasure at that. Here it is..finally.
Baz owns all MR related things and lecky is very jealous of him.
*~*
Stopped
So I cried out loud and cursed the Gods
Damn your judgments I said
There is a bottle made of dark green glass; it sits amongst a hundred others and is no different to them. Its contents raced down the throat of the same victim and its illusions tormented the same eyes. This bottle, like all the others, numbs and blurs the world of the shattered poet, who thinks his world has stopped when really; he just never notices it moving anymore.
The green fairy visits him often, due to all the bottles he consumes. She listens to all his bitter screams and curses to the moon and stars. She looks into his bloodshot eyes and barely has the heart to dance; her dancing doesn't amuse him anymore, anyway. He'd rather curse and cry out his hatred towards the world he's been left in.
Wounded every now and then
And when the curtain fell
I felt a hole inside
Whenever he closes his eyes he sees red. Smooth red velvet curtains with gold decorations. Her face appears like a hologram across the velvet, coloured red like the blood she drowned in. He hates curtains; he tore his own down and burned them. He's so fragile now, brittle and weak; his skin will bruise if you press a finger to it. It's what happens, he says, when the world stops, so do you.
He insists to his friend, Toulouse the little painter, that there is a hole in his heart and he will soon die. Toulouse has given up telling him otherwise and now only endures his predictions. He doesn't visit as much anymore, for fear he might break down into tears - he is sure his friend has gone mad.
Conclusions
It's one of my faults life has given me
Silly really
He went for a walk one day in the middle of winter and never came back. The only person that knew his destination was the Green Fairy and she would never tell a soul. He had told her the night before; I am going to heaven, he droned, I'm going to get her back.
He became a tragedy all over again. A silly little boy, a broken young man, running through the streets screaming her name. He was sure she was still there, hiding somewhere waiting for him to find her again. That was all, he told himself, that was all he had to do - find heaven and find her.
When my world fell apart
I stood in the rain of the thunderstorm
And asked for one simple thing
Toulouse thought he heard him one night after he disappeared, just below his window. There was a storm with winds that howled in an uproar for much of the night and carried his voice as he screamed her name. Toulouse's heart twisted and curled at the sound of the poet's voice; madness ruled him and all his thoughts focused on one thing.
Some nights were worse than others, when his voice rang through the streets. Most nights he demanded to have her back. He demanded, never begged. Bring her back, he would scream at the sky, never afraid of the thunder and rain, or I shall find her!
The angels assured me it was the Devil who stole it
So I travelled to the underworld
To get it back
He was cold to any that got in his way. He had descended into madness and had a look of death in his eyes. He never found her as he roamed the streets, but he searched everyday, certain that there was a place he'd missed and she'd be there waiting for him. He was adamant that there was a door, a corner or a window that would lead him into heaven, lead him to her.
Days went by, weeks even. When the sun was hot and bright you could see him dressed in black and white walking the streets; searching always searching. When the moon was round and waxing he lurked in the dark corners of bars, drinking and brooding with the Green Fairy. I'll find her tomorrow, he assured the fairy, tomorrow I'll find her.
For thinking that if I just asked
He would deliver
I was always one to be naïve
His condition worsened more and more each day; but none dared go anywhere near him amd he was left to search places he'd searched a thousand times. He now believed he was trapped in hell, searching for his way back to heaven and to his love. Every night he would still scream, now begging, not demanding.
The Green Fairy was still his confidant. He would whisper to her his plans to find her and every night they became more suicidal, more outrageous, more dangerous and more insane. Going to the devil tomorrow, he whispered through drinks, going to find her at last.
Hades made a deal with me
Yes, I dealt with the devil
He promised to return what's mine to me
It was always said that he dealt with the devil; it was a better way of saying what he really did. That was the last time he whispered to his fairy, and what else he told her she would never speak of. But after that night she never danced the same again and would block her ears and disappear when men spoke to her of secrets.
It was said that one glass made her tell the truth to that poet and too many lie, but one glass made him lie to her and too many tell the truth. When I sleep tonight, he said to her, I wont wake tomorrow, give me the voice of an angel in my dreams, he requested, because there's more than just liquor in my glass tonight.
Would you like to know what I did from there?
Poison runs fast through a mans veins
And sends one to an angel's song
He dealt with the devil and went to the greatest lengths to hear an angel's voice. Death was no obstacle for him, only a pebble to sidestep. It was never known what he put in his drink that night or how much of it; he was found in the dewy fog of the morning cold and dead next to her resting place, smelling of newly fallen rain and cheap liquor.
He found his doorway, he found his corner and he found his window. He found her.