Elsewhere

Every once in a long while
I find myself somewhere else
A place I call Elsewhere
It’s a not-to-long winding road
Under sepia skies
It doesn’t feel like home
But it doesn’t feel foreign either
And despite how long I’m away from it
It always remembers me

To my left is a path
It leads out the a beach
Soft sand slowly and slightly declining
To emerald water
With large wooden vessels
Drifting in the distance
To my right
Are a row of film posters
For productions too old
To be in any licensed cinema
As I walk alongside them
I can see a small building in the distance
And in a moment,
Through no transition,
I am inside

The walls are wooden
But it doesn’t feel cramped
Ahead of me is a counter
A girl with short dark hair
Stands behind it
As I enter
Whenever I enter
Her eyes shift to mine
And long for prolonged contact
But I shyly move past
Over to the soft drink dispenser

Here I find the girl with orange hair
Who pours me a drink
A ruby pink syrup
Cold and sweet
Almost overwhelming now
But reminding me of my younger tastes
When she smiles at me
I remember that not all tastes change
And we begin to chat

I never remember what we talk of
And I never remember leaving
But I find myself under the sepia sky again
And know that shortly I’ll be home
With all the turmoil that it involves

I look to the building
Through the window
I see two people who care for me
And we smile
Without me even once
Worrying about how I look to them

While I never combat my departure,
I don’t look away from those wooden walls
When I wake up
It always feels so real
And it makes me wonder
If I’ll ever truly have that overly sweet drink
With those overly genuine people
Under that warm sepia sky
Elsewhere

-Galwyn

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Cell

I felt my chest being torn open
From inside, something tries to escape
It claws with animal desperation
Like the last lunges of a drowning child
Being swept away by strong currents
Away from the shore
Away from safety
As the feeling of choking takes over
Salty and wet like tears
As this sorrowful child sobs
And drifts down below
I look to my hands
Stubby nails
Coated in red
As they cling to the inside of my ribs
Both prisoner and cell
Of an empty heart

-Galwyn

Art

I awoke to find today
That the paper brought grim news
For it seems art had died

It happened late last night
After months of woeful fighting
Its body could take no more
They found it cold and clammy
With withered hands limp

They carried it to the mortician
Who painted its face so bright
And into a box it went
In a sea of bright flowers and purfume
It lay there as the organ played
And as those pipes trembled
The mourning crowd began to sing

They came from their day jobs
They came with their families
And drew pictures pattered with tears
Into the box the pages went

As art was lowered to the earth
A prayer was said
A poem on faith
And the process was done
Yet as the masses left
I lingered at the mound
And plucked forth a flower for my lapel

For it seemed this most grim occasion
Was nothing of the sort
There lies an empty coffin-
Save for the pictures
The songs
And the sorrows
Which keep inspiration strong

I returned home
Sat down in a comfortable chair
And waited for art to die again

-Galwyn

More

Colorful hair
Sharp face
With tongue to match
Having dipped into the deep waters
Of cynical wit

Vulpine soul
Marble eyes
Smooth stone
Opaque glass with divine ribbons
Of earthy hues

Ghoulish laugh
Toothy grin
At her expense
Even though she’s paid the price
For her charms

Teary nights
Low humming
Muffled howling
Wolf singing the crestfallen blues
Through a muzzle

In my arms
On my mind
The special nobody
Who is everything to someone
Yet more to me

-Galwyn

Punchlines

She speaks the punchlines
Before they pass my lips
She could list my passions
And catch my smile
Before they even enter my mind
She is my closest friend
Yet she doesn’t know me

She’d never see me cry
Couldn’t shoulder my shaking face
And wouldn’t know what to do
If I spoke of my fears

I stomach my rainclouds
To keep sun in our lives
But I want her to know the truth
All the times I’ve laughed with her
And all the times I couldn’t weep

So I type in the evening
For all but her to read
I couldn’t hurt her with this
No matter how much
I want her to see

-Galwyn