Scaredy-Cat
I have an evil little being that lives in my top pocket. These days, it usually stays quite quiet and meek, but sometimes, when I'm down again, It pounces out of my pocket, cradles itself against me and wraps its tail around my neck. Then, gently, it purrs a soft droning melody into my ear;
You don't have to, you know. that big wide world out there, whatever it is under your bed, whatever it is on the other side of that door, it doesn't have to worry you. Not one bit. It's here with me that you're really safe.
There is a beauty in things that rot, you know. A clam stillness and serenity that can only be felt by the oldest houses, wrapped tightly in warm swaying blankets of ivy and moss. Bones bundled in soft mud, given the rest they need to seep into everything around them, become more content than they ever where before.
It's harsh out there. Things can go wrong. They do, for thousands and thousands every single hour of the day. There is no shame in settling in a sunless spot and letting soft paws of mould press upon your skin until you're enveloped in a thick duvet of feathering decay. Lay down with me, my dear. Be still. Be calm.
Its a siren's serenade, sung from the whiskered lips of something that wants me dead.
But it's such a sweet song.
Because the nectar in a Venus flytrap is so much sweeter than any honey could ever be. It's a thick indulgent darkness the likes of which can only be found at the very back of a set of very slow moving, very wide open jaws.
It lies though, that evil little being that's pushing its face against my cheek like a kitten. And it lies because deep down in its inky black little heart it's scared. It's Scared of the big wide world and the myriad of ways that we can and will be hurt by it, it's scared of what lies behind each and every door for the very same reason. And for such a supposedly fearless little kitty it's scared of its very own tail.
I try not to lie beside my kitten, or follow its voice down damp familiar paths. But I have empathy for myself when I do, and I try to have have sympathy for the scaredy-cat that's trying to lead me back to the misguided comfort and camaraderie it feels sunning itself beside a rotten fig tree.
