I can hear it at midnight

I’m on stage

with my publishing team

my family, friends

I look into the crowd and say

there’s someone here who isn’t on my team

she may not have my last name

but she is definitely part of my family

Somebody who pulled me out of a rough time

and became the best friend I never deserved

but desperately needed

 

and everything glimmers in gold –

the lights, her skin and the eyes 

of the ever-adoring crowd I imagine

when only the moon holds precedence 

over the night and self-doubt, itching

self-loathing, disappears 

within the pale silver, 

the curl of her smile

 

She’s here today

If you didn’t know it before

Well, tonight you’ll learn her name

In the midnight hour, something stirs

Still beating heart full of love

Somehow she’s escaped every attempt

 

because love is fickle 

no matter what you make it

no matter how many colours you mix

and paint it 

 

I feel obliterated, I seem desperate

The only time I’ve ever felt such passion

So I write about her, lie awake in her

The midnight hour dazzles me with the mirage

Pink tie-dye shirt and ripped jeans

Will always devour my dreams

Seeing her and someone else, never mine

Each day I catch her, held captive by my pen

Is it a measure of vengeance, or a sin?

 

is it a calling from above

or a guttural grief residing within?

how many thieves will exist

before I touch her? kiss her? 

say thank you for living

life as if it is worth living –

for enchanting me with spells

she was never taught, with spells

she cannot even name 

because all of this appears then

vanishes within the twilight of night

 

So in this midnight hour I feel tears again

Disappointment or expected tragedy?

Buckets of discordant melodies on my back

I’m not sure if I’ll ever get on the right track

I’m scratching as I’m turning, nothing sings

The memories sting, and I’m still alone

I love myself, but we sound so much better

If we sung and loved each other, together

 

until then the applause is empty,

the trophies nothing but copper

to be melted and melded into things

which are lesser than you, than us,

than the dream I live every time

the clock strikes twelve 

and my Cinderella heart foolishly hopes

for more than a second chance.

 

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Normal text: Devereaux Frazier

Italics: Kristiana Reed

Read and follow Frazier’s work here and on Instagram. 

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Between the Trees UK

Between the Trees US