Prufrock's Cave
I wonder how many drops it would take before this cave should flood to its ceiling and lie me down; a watery grave. This constant dripping, the water falling off the stalactites, which reach down as their brethren reach up. I, gnarled in the jaws of this beast. I am not young, nor am I old, nor am I middle aged. I simply am; a hunched over, frail, decrepit sack of bones, randomly placed here in the universe that I should wonder. I scrape around in this darkness, and dance the shadows dance on the walls, that there should be walls? O wail.
i should have been...
i am...
These hands, though claws, and a body so small, yet all I am. That I stare off into the dark and I wonder...
A two-headed dog. Stout snout. And teeth like the jaws of a cave, and a tongue like a snake. All black.
It lets out a terrible scream, a wail and through its mouth I see the shores of hell, a beach of sulfur on a lake of fire, where the living pray for death, feel death, feel themselves slipping into death, the relief right there a liquid all around them. but death never comes.
Sometimes I imagine myself reaching a hand out into the darkness to pat its placid fur and feel its warmth (though I wonder if it will burn).
I have seen it in the shadows of my cave, and I wonder when it will come for me, if it will come for me, will it come for me? O terror. drip. drip. drip. I see steel, traveling down the line, faster and faster, the sound beneath (and above) to drown and thus become my scream that itshouldbesoloudandrunfasterandfasterandfasterandlouderandlouder. my wail in terror? for all. for none. to hear.
i should have been...
i am...
I remember a day through a yellow fog that I’m never really sure I really lived; but I see it. I sea it. Stretched in front of me a million miles (though it doesn’t matter) grass and flowers; the flowers come up and wave at the sun, who smiles back. And I am happy. I am so happy. My soul longs to spring from my body and dissipate into this cool, fresh air; and live here for ever and ever. and never mind. about the dogs.
trouble is
i’m not entirely sure
i have a body
at all.
Smile. Laugh. O Joy! To lie in this grass and smell it, and taste the air, and gaze upon the clouds and wonder. Where would I go if I were a cloud? Would I stay here and look down upon myself, or would I take up the wind and travel to an Arabian Night? A long expanse of desert, the sand stirs and settles; and stirs and settles; and settles. And all is right here; I am right here; And I am alright. I look out into the night (which I am apart of, and how it feels so right,
to be apart,
of the night) and I see how different the black is when it is littered with a million (though it doesn’t matter) stars, how there is infinite beauty in infinite stars. O Love!
i should have been...
i am...
and still that it should drip, and i feel it all around. me.
Covering me, I go under; scared I cannot breath. i have a body? at all. mmmm. And here I am home. The water surrounds me, and bubbles its way into the lines of my skin and all there is is darkness water. and comfort. I scuttle here alone across this floor, and no longer I hear anything fast. It Is Silent.
i should have been...
i am...
white space, where i used to talk. All is silent now, however, and I scuttle on alone. O Toil? What would they say if I told you that it wasn’t a bad thing? What would they say if I told you it wasn’t a thing at all? That is not what I meant at all. It is not it.
at all.
And so I think I’ll stay here, and scuttle (as if I had a choice)
. I’ll scuttle North
West East
South
and it will make no
difference.
it will make no difference at all.
i should have been...
i am...
a pair of ragged claws
scuttling across the
floors of silent seas.