This is.... something. I'm not sure what kind of something, but I don't think it's a poem so much as a story. Sorry. I was in a different mood when I had written it. Suppose I had to put it somewhere.
Dirt and Conversations
I don't know what's wrong, I guess it's just the situation.
Yes, it's the situation, you see?
She stepped up onto the window ledge,
And began yelling, talking,
She refuses to come back down, she's drifting and dancing
She's not with us anymore.
Oh, let her be.
He waved it away.
It's just his young wife.
The marriage was only for society,
No point in helping a looney girl, now.
He walked away like nothing had happened.
I wondered if anything had.
The butler, who always obeys orders is left to leave a lady,
Quite literally on the edge of death?
So then I sat in her room,
Watched her all night for any changes.
She sat there on the ledge,
Dangling her legs off,
Dress drifting in the wind,
Favourite red shoes ready to fall.
Ready to hurt, I'd say.
But who knows?
She started singing.
"Oh, how does a bird fly?
Up and high above,
It drifts and floats upon the air,
Be nice to me, dear fate.
I have sorrow and compassion yet,
Believe my dear companion.
I do not lie, let us hear your words.
Remark upon my beautiful reflection,
What irks perfect souls,
Into a darkened night?
Oh, how does a bird die?
Quiet and silently,
Upon the ground,
Shot down by man.
By the man, that they love so dear, so much.
Oh, how does a bird die,
With wings uplifting it, so high?"
Sitting aloft in the strangest, stone still way,
It was all I could do not to call out.
But I needed to see yet,
The length of her insanity,
The distance which her unknown ailment has taken upon her,
The distance I would have to go, perhaps,
To get her back.
Night fell soon, almost as if her actions has quickened the day.
The sunset soon turned to evening,
And in the cold breezed of the night,
Words were left to drift unknown.
I grew tired unbearably,
Feeling a heaviness fall upon my body.
Old, I was not.
Near thirty at the time,
Yet a strange feeling befell me.
She sat still, as if asleep.
I believed her dabblings in the day
had stopped her in exhaustion,
But I suppose I was wrong.
A moment before I had fallen to my dreams,
She stirred from the window ledge,
And I sat up, my heart racing.
She came inside, so suddenly,
I was not sure it had happened.
Looking at her, it was as if a mere illusion stood before me,
Bound to disappear at any second.
She looked at me with her serenely conflicted face,
Eyes seeming to flicker in the deepness of night,
Her long pale hair seemed dark,
Her body seemed only half here.
Looking back on it now,
She was merely a ghost,
An imagining of my mind.
She was still wearing her shoes.
Red in the gloom,
And I could make out the steps she took,
And if I had sense to,
I would have counted the steps.
Maybe it was five, perhaps seven,
For her to reach me.
She glanced at me, as if for only a moment,
And yet her eyes never left mine.
She spoke quietly in the enveloping dark,
Voice swallowed up by the air.
The pause was lengthy.
"…I was thinking,
But it doesn't even matter,
Everyone saw me,
They heard me…"
Her light accent echoed off the walls of my mind.
"I don't want to be here,
It's miserable, and look…
That last part was so spoken for,
I wasn't sure whether to laugh or
Call in the sir for help.
Instead I said,
"Everyone's insane, to an extent."
She listened, eyes alight,
"but I've gone a bit far, don't you think?"
I smiled, I couldn't help it.
"I wanted to jump, you know,
Just to spite the bastard,
But what difference would it make?"
She sat on the bed, and took off her shoes,
"I wanted to look nice, for when I died,
But all I could do was think."
I sat down, too. Still being tired.
"It's different standing outside like that,
It's just so… different…
Maybe I should just use poison…"
I blinked at her incredulously,
"You're not really trying to die, are you?"
She looked up at me from her shoes,
"Do you expect me to wait, then?"
I thought about it for a moment,
"Why, yes I do. If fate says that
it's the right time for you to die,
Then I believe that that's the only time you can."
"Then fate sounds a lot like the sir, does it not?
A worthless bastard it is,"
I couldn't answer to her resentment,
It wasn't in my job.
"You know, the other night I had the strangest dream.
There were these hideous insects everywhere,
And I became so angry,
I felt I could not kill them all,
And I thrashed wildly at them,
As if all the time in the world couldn't fulfill that need."
"I believe that he was the bug. Or all of them.
All the creatures I saw at the window
will never be as disgusting as him.
Be honest, now, is a hate this strong natural?
Am I out of my mind?"
She stared at me questioningly,
As if I had all the answers.
"I am not in a position to say,"
"You do not speak much for a servant,
Usually they complain and gossip senselessly,"
"And I look like a maid to you?"
"No sir, you look like a butler,
But all the same, they take upon similar hobbies."
I didn't speak.
"Go back to your quarters and sleep,
It's very late."
I left the room, closing the door curtly behind me.
That night I wondered whether she would be awake the next morning.