She was a little gobsmacked by the appearance of my face, the disinterest in my voice when I replied – I’m okay. You?.
Her eyes widened with an acquainted curiosity.
No, really. How are you today? You don’t look yourself. What’s wrong? She asked.
I had a strange epiphany, I began.
She shifted on her chair, a hidden smile on her face as if the agony in my voice was a trigger for merriment.
What epiphany? She again inquired, locking her knees together, pulling slightly at the hem of her dress.
I paused. Then like a balloon waiting to deflate, I let the words spill effortlessly.
Today I woke up an insane woman
Embodied in a home that was once familiar,
Once soothing to the buds at the back of my tongue.
My skin writhed with an apprehension
And a darkness engulfed my organs,
Stole my ribcage and made a home in its place.
Lapiz came in form of a half moon,
Smiling like the shepherd’s boy
Commanding my mind to rebel against the body,
Stealing my will, having it concealed in its dingy pouch.
Lapiz told me stories I had heard before
But could not recollect,
a clouded vacuum where once memory laid.
Told me I wasn’t all that I am made to believe,
Because the tongues of strangers are laced with honey and broken glass
That will cut me even as I struggle to swallow the words, tart with bile.
Lapiz showed me my soul in the palm of her hand,
Cut through it with a knife and exposed all the hidden ugliness of my secrets,
Even though I told her to stop.
“Stop it. I’m supposed to be beautiful.”
Oh, but are you now? Lapiz asked.
She held it up to my nose, smiling.
It was red, and white
And it bled
But it glowed.
I watched her face, now white with a distinguishable paleness, before repeating,
But it glowed.
She gave me the half-witted look, one I was accustomed to, her lips slighlty parted. We sat quiet for hours, and didn’t say another word.