7) Hyperballad Lies
March 6, 2013 § 4 Comments
I let Bjork carry me up a mountain, right to the very tippy tip top. I don’t look back. I have a pocket of bottle caps which jangle as I stride. It is steep. My body rocks back and forth with the motion of my legs. My breath is heavy.
Up, up, up.
I reach the peak and without hesitation briskly grab a handful of bottle caps from my pocket and fling them away. I throw my whole body into it, my torso dangling dangerously for a moment over the sharp edge.
The caps float for a flash, cutting through the peaceful air with sharp edges and scarlet lettering. They are silent now. They are free. I watch.
Their flight suddenly ends and they drop, without warning, through the air. Sprinkling from the sky; metal rain.
Down, down, down.
And as I follow the red specks getting smaller and smaller, bouncing off the sheer cliff edge, bruising their symmetric dents, I do not feel healed.
Bjork said that this would cure everything. That I could throw things off a mountain and realise that you are enough for me. But you’re not.
I need to throw you off instead.