Coded promises

That’s right, that’s right, that’s you. You come along here, bold and brazen as you like, and you smash glasses, crock­ery, fin­gers and thumbs, sticks and stones against the rocks, you break my bones because names will never hurt me, and then you lean for­ward. Con­spir­at­ori­ally. War­ily. Care­fully. Cast your eyes into my skull and out through the back of my head, so to make doubly cer­tain that nobody’s observing us from a dis­tance. Now. Say it. Say the words that are chok­ing you, mak­ing you gasp even for the most fetid air, yel­low­ing you with the sickly fumes, age­ing you before my very eyes. Unleash to live, so that you can breathe another day. One word is all it takes.

Your secret’s safe with me, I promise.

That’s right, that’s right, that’s you. You’ve told me everything. Now you evap­or­ate. Gone. Faded into the earth, into the back­ground. You leave me with hand­fuls of rus­ted chains, their bonds broken from where you gnawed through them in your sud­den des­per­ate need to van­ish bey­ond belief, bey­ond remem­brance. Your echoes are the sounds of static, hiss and elec­tronic burble nag­ging at the sens­it­ive extremes of my hear­ing, need­ling the red before sweep­ing back the dial and find­ing silence. This isn’t music, this is noise. This isn’t scream­ing, this is laughter. This isn’t bit­ing, this is can­ni­bal­ism from the inside out — heart first, lungs later, fin­ger­nails for dessert. Two words are all it takes.

Your secret’s safe with me, I promise.

That’s right, that’s right, that’s you. Your syr­upy plat­it­udes and oft-repeated phrases now merely make me naus­eous, where once they burn­ished my soul into a new-found lustre. Your photo booth snap­shot, wide-eyed, sends me sickened and cold. All I want is to send you to bed without any sup­per, pull the cov­ers over your head and press the pil­low over your face. Down and out and goose-feathered. Don’t put songs in my heart, don’t put words in my head, don’t put move­ment in my muscles. Don’t do any­thing to me or for me or because of me. Don’t live and breathe. Don’t exist in your own time, under your own skies. But whatever you do, don’t just dis­ap­pear. Three words are all it takes.

Your secret’s safe with me, I promise.

That’s right, that’s right, that’s you. I’ve got no hold, no claim, no dream­like obses­sions. Hard-faced with a stony heart, hot-headed with a burn­ing brow, and with a reflec­tion that con­tin­ues to blur a little more in the mir­ror every morn­ing. That’s me writ­ten through and through, like so much tooth-decaying sickly sea­side rock. Do I taste good? Do you approve of my arti­fice? Will you fin­ish me off this time? Oh, I for­get. You’ve sworn off sweet foods in case they ruin your appet­ite. Very wise, that. Take some of me with you, then. Slip me into your pocket as a simple keep­sake to remem­ber me by. You’re fad­ing. Last chance? Can I coax you? Four words are all it takes.

Your secret’s safe with me, I promise.