I'm too practised. Too...too sure, in that unsure way I am. I know what my words will do to people. I know what my actions will result in. I know exactly how I'm supposed to act, and I do. But it's all fake, really, completely fake. And every time I do something how I'm supposed to, for the basic structure, anyway, I lose myself a little further.
Of course it's driving me crazy. Or not crazy completely. Not that known crazy where you pick apart your skin and run away, or rock back and fourth for hours. While those would be lovely, I'm sure. It's not that at all.
It's Them. It's them them them them them. It's when I stare at you blankly because there's nothing left there, in that moment. I'm in here. And I want to tell you that. I want to remind you I am in here.
But here is this fucking practised terror. Stuck in a nightmare of reason and logic. I don't understand it any more than you do, any more than anyone.
And if you think about it, it's already fucked over. School became too panicky. Far too panicky I almost killed myself, and what does that say about me? I can't make it through a day of it. I already lost that ability. I already lost myself far enough I can't pretend that anymore.
And it seems like I've already broken down, like I'm already not functioning. But this is functioning past 100% for me, inside. Inside it's so much worse off than you can even imagine. And I'm just trying to hold myself together for the next, say...20 years? But I know I'm not going to be able to make it that far.
It's a skull and cross bones warning label that you ripped off your drink. It's because we all age too fast and get to that sick point of delirium. Only some go faster than the speed of light, their skin peeling off with every second, it's so bad. And that's not possible. We're told repeatedly that that's not possible! But who are you to say the cause can't be what comes next? The effect is this, and this is all backwards, isn't it? Where did that logic go to? We miss it so, don't we?
But I don't.
I don't, you don't understand at all. Neither do I, and it's starting to really freak me out. Yes, I am starting to hear you again. Yes, I am almost even seeing you. But I'm not listening I'm not looking.
It's perfect, because after everything, this is what I wanted, isn't it?
But I would rather be dead than amount to anything, if this is what it takes? I would rather be dead and not go through this at all. This...sorry. I'm terribly sorry. I mean life. This isn't a cycle inside of life's cycle. This is life's cycle.
There's yours and there's mine and I'd rather not have been born at all. It's so much harder to stand at all by this point. It's so much harder to even smile, and quite frankly, I don't see a point for faking anything anymore.
But I don't know how to let any of it out.
It's like a balloon stuffed with too much air. Only the air is poison. And the balloon is a person. And in all logic, a person should be dead after consuming that much poison. Frankly, in all logic at all, they'd already be dead after a single drop of such.
But they're not dead. Somehow they're still moving automatic. They're an automative, now.
Tap, tap, tap on the glass with their glossy smile. Eyes unmoving, wax characters can watch you until you're out of view, past their horizon. I can only see so far it's not my choice they trapped me.
Ok. So now can you please let me go? How many more years of this.
I'm not the strings on my arms and legs, I'm not this at all. But why would you look further into a wooden doll when it's obvious what's inside?
Wood, wood, and more wood.
That's not a person at all. And you don't listen when I scream, "PLEASE. I'm inside."
You don't listen when I ask for help out, instead move on, peer into the next glossy-eyed creature. When you see a puppet, a toy, a slot where you put your coin, where they smile. The card drops out reading your fortune, but perfectly, perfectly, nothing of them.
Look farther.
<3
ReplyDelete<3
ReplyDelete