The Scarecrow and the Queen of Selfdestruction.
Her pale cheek against his naked forearm.
Listening to his soft snores.
Starring into the pink sheets.
Turning the events of the early morning over in her head.
Unable to sleep.
A night when a rockstar became a scarecrow
and a ragdoll turned into a queen once again,
only not of ice this time, but of selfdestruction.
Two scared children at a deserted bus stop after a wet night out.
She’d carried him out of the pub.
He was babbling away the early morning light.
With just a flick of his wits,
he pushed one of her buttons.
A comment about nothing, and the box was open.
A push, and her tears came streaming down.
All her low self esteem,
so skilfully hidden beneath the surface of her smile,
burst open with just a little tug.
She knows she’s not beautiful,
she needs not be reminded of it.
It’s all but shallow, and yet…
All her insecurity wallowed up from inside.
Craving answers.
All her confusion mixed with alcohol and tears.
Begging for more.
He spoke.
And as he spoke he slowly turned into a scarecrow.
Lowly and frightenned.
Holding on to what once was.
Refusing to let go of the old and bad.
Afraid to walk into the new and the good.
Afraid of the string.
Afraid of the promise.
Afraid of the feelings.
Afraid of accepting, acknowledging, of facing himself and his heart.
Afraid of facing her and her way too big heart.
And as he spoke she slowly turned into a queen.
Desperate and scared.
Holding on to what could be.
Refusing to let go of the new and good.
She should have turned her heel.
She should have walked away.
But she stayed.
Thanks to that which he despises the most
- her lack of self preservation
- her lack of self esteem
- her lack of self.
She stayed.
Listened to him ranting on.
Understanding him and yet not at all.
Hating herself for staying.
Hating herself for listening.
Watching herself washing down the drain.
Hating herself for waiting.
For accepting.
Afraid that once the scarecrow has made up his mind,
once he’s come around,
that there will be nought left of her.
The strong person she really is,
means nothing at all without security.
And now there she lies,
next to a snoring scarecrow,
with her heart on the outside.
Feeling his naked skin against hers,
trying to grasp the notion of someone wanting so badly to be with her,
without being with her.
Trying to sort the signals.
Fascinated over how perfect goes to imperfect at the flick of the eye.
Amazed at how quickly it turns.
From feeling loved with every fibre of your body,
to complete loneliness,
despite the fact that his hair tickles your forehead,
that his arm lies around you,
that his nose snuggles your neck,
that his hand hugs yours.
As the light darkness of a northern summer falls over yet another night,
the Queen sits alone by her large window,
watching the bats fly about.
Conflicting feelings.
Confused feelings.
the Queen of Selfdestruction will wait.
Will continue.
Will go on hoping.
Will dry her tears and let him have his way.
Will delude herself for a little while longer.
But in the shadows
awaits the Queen of Ice.
Ready to step up to the challenge.
Ready to freeze it all away.
Ready to put up the walls.
Ready to become a hedgehog.
Ready to come to her rescue.
She stands by for now.
But when does “now” end?
the Queen of Ice knows it to be soon.
the Queen of Selfdestruction instead pretends to be oblivious.
This morning,
a ragdoll and a rockstar died.
This morning,
a scarecrow and a queen took their places.
