I stand in the dark, now black, now red
And there’s a rain of leaves above my head
My eyes are half closed, my eyelids painted crimson
My dress falls away in waves Victorian
I mustn’t open my eyes, I think
My palms itch, unbearably curious my head
Something told me to stay here, to not even blink
Something, someone, in an old memory, perhaps an old life
It was him, wasn’t it?
Was he real? We danced, didn’t we? Did we?
The world behind my eyes is more colourful than the one around
Around my little finger, a little strand of hair is wound
It’s deep brown, it’s his, isn’t it?
I can’t recall his face, only a vague shape
But my hands know the memory of his sloping forehead, his dark brows, his upturned mouth
They itch again, telling me of things my mind won’t, no matter how much I scrape
I stand there I know not how long
It seems like time has stopped and summer’s gone
I feel no cold, I feel no heat
A steady, slow trickling begins at my feet
It’s familiar; warm; both a friend and a foe
I want to look down, but he told me not to open my eyes
The vagaries of the heart break my promise, curiousity in tow
And I open my eyes, and look down at my feet
It’s blood that my stomach is forgoing
And it’s me this time that’s flowing
Everything comes back in a flash
And the demons inside me materialize
He had told me, don’t try to see them
He had warned me to hide
I could not stay away,
I wanted to feel the pain
All the memories came back to me again
I had killed him,
I had wielded the silver knife
He had died at my feet,
his hand, those long fingers benign
On my knee, his eyes locked in mine
His last act had be to save me, from myself.
Title: Florence + The Machine. Shake it out.