Crumpets for A

Dear Lilly-white lady,

It seems I had little choice in this meeting as it was nothing more than an ambush at best.

While you peruse my supposed dark screaming volume and talk about brute force and violence I am already off daydreaming about romance. Forever a coward that way in the flesh, but bold and brash behind a mask. Although I very much like your company and the attention I would rather trade in those rosy lens for some rosy lips or rosy hair. A dragon of a dame whose breath brings fire to my steel soul to meld it in passion and boils my deep dark watery mind to bring fresh inspiration.

Through the tea's steam you ask about some mindfuck manual or something and pause to indulge on crumpets topped with some 'house-special'. Could have been a drug thinking sbout it now.

I mumble something about the wonder and strength of the average person and just my luck it being seen as madness in sparse reply.

The words continue about brutality and violence and sex. My thoughts wander off into realms of witty banter. There I am a sly young man of humour and confidence. Yet here in front of you or anyone I am a reclusive child afraid to step outside and join in with the game of growing up. Where cars, jobs and girlfriends or boyfriends are more than just talk and actual accomplishments. How simple life seems for everyone else: where they can do things, have purpose and not think so deep.

A flurry of pollen stops the mind rant as you swear loudly, cursing with words of hog warts and ogre toenails. Though in this place no one will take much notice.

And just like that it is over. Nothing left but some fancy named dark bouquet. It'll keep my melancholia company and wilt at home into nothingness like my ambitious dreams.

I suppose some people still watch my madness, though I long for the day when the madness can be shared with another; the true madness of love reciprocated.