Insect Bodies

Insect Bodies

The house seems cold now that you've gone .
I know you said that you were going to leave , but I really didn't
think you'd go through with it. You were always one for idle
threats.
The place is empty now , like me. I no longer feel anything. If you
came through the door right now shouting the odds at me, I probably
would not react. I have become immune to verbal abuse of any
form.
The nights are the worst. I sit in the dark thinking of you , watching
the shapes and shadows dancing . The carpet you loved so much is now
worn in several place and accumulated dirt has darkened it's colour.
The records and books we used to enjoy so much together have
gone.....down my throat. That is , I sold them to finance my alcohol
habit.
My insomnia has become gradually worse. A bottle of whisky lies next to
the mattress to help me sleep , I suppose you could say it was for
medicinal purposes.
Cleanliness is no longer an issue. I can't remember when I last shaved
or washed and I have stopped going into the kitchen.
Can't face the mounds of dishes, the decaying matter and the mould
encrusted food. Often the buzzing of the flies becomes too much. I
often think of going in and taking the multitude of them one by one,
pulling their wings off and saying "she loves me, she loves me not",
like a little kid pulling petals from daisies.
Imagine the agony the insect is going through as I pull it's wings off
and then move on to it's legs . Imagine if someone cut your legs and
arms off and left you writhing helplessly on the floor. Imagine the
pain searing through the places where the limbs had been. Imagine the
jangling pains shooting through your body.Imagine this. Imagine that
you are inside my head, no it's not a nice place to be.
I used to do this sort of thing as a child . I would leave a scattering
of insect bodies on the garden path as a warning to intruders.
There would be a note scrawled to a piece of card attached to a piece
of wood."Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here", it said , in a childlike
approximation of Gothic script flanked by a roughly drawn gravestone on
each side.
The murdering of insects gave me a perverse glee. Other kids kept bees
and wasps in a jam jar with holes punched in the lid to allow the
insects to breathe. I was the ruthless serial killer of bees, wasps,
spiders, flies , the lot . I was also better than the other kids.
During the day, I sit by the window . I watch the hedges, the people
going by and most of all , I watch for your car stopping outside the
house. I hope for the welcome crunch of the gravel as you walk towards
the front door.
With each dawn another day of hopeful aimlessness commences . Without
you , I am a ghost drifting through crowds of living people , an unseen
entity wending my way through a crowded mall alive with frenetic
activity. Unseen yet ever near, like God in a hymn I remember from my
childhood .
I watch and wonder where you are , presumably you've got someone new ;
a better, younger lover with more money. I couldn't believe my luck
when we were together , but somehow in my heart of hearts , I realised
we were poles apart in many ways.
I've thrown out all the old photos . It seemed pointless to smash the
frames or burn them in a mindless act of vengeance. Nothing like that
matters anymore. Occasionally , I venture out into the hall and look at
the vast pile of letters, junkmail and freesheets. You'd think somebody
would notice that I hadn't been out of the house for some time.
Wouldn't you?
Maybe the insect bodies I have smeared on the doorstep have repelled
any callers . Mind you, maybe folk just don't care..