i explained myself to myself
You lay at 6:37 in bed with the light of day reaching in around the blinds
staring at the desk next to you, swirling wood grain sits still
and you blink a few times because blinking helps with tears,
It's been months, you'd nearly forgotten, but today you saw it and it spoke
further information about your misery, no i am not there it said.
you sat the rest of the day with bats in your head,
you moved like a zombie at the proper times,
you mumbled at people and didn't look in the mirror.
it took a while to get home because you didn't want to be there
or anywhere,
you wanted to be someone else and your skin crawled when you got inside
you got in the door and all the signs of your existance were all around you,
so you lay your things down and crawled in bed to stare
at the wood grain swirls
and welcome death.
It stayed 6:37 for a long time,
so long that by 6:38 you'd come to a conclusion - the mind works best in movement.
you got up and walked outside in the rainy hidden sun setting.
you walked on streets, and curbs, and slanted lawns for a long time,
it got pitch black and you were soaked, your mind running high
but not without rusty groans,
so many images of it, and places where it might be flicker through a projector
as cars drive by and people glance suspiciously
at your dark coat, scarf hanging, rainy walk at night.
water ran down your face - it felt like numb tears, it felt like something,
and being alive as no longer a fight against expectations,
life was a rivulet that grazed your cheek and dripped off your chin,
a self-inflicted struggle,
just a moment of sadness, and you feel that it should pass but
you never want to get home because
you've lost track of time and self and would prefer to keep it that way
you'd prefer to disappear in a fog and let the clocks say 6:38 all night
and just leave one bit of your mind in the world to keep your legs moving
while the rest of it lives out your fictional life for you.
you're going to wake up tomorrow,
nothing will have changed, and the rain will still fall,
and you'll pace, impatient zombie,
when the sun is hiding.
no i am not there, and even if it was you'd still need constant stimulation
always reaching for something to scratch raw with your analyzation,
mental rearrangement,
as though you could change the world by thinking enough,
as though a new conclusion could be derived
by beating it bloody within the walls of your mind.
you had it backed in a corner, did you,
thought you had every inch woven shut in webs, but he slipped away-
your mind is angry.
if you could overlook this, what good is any of it?
why live without any control?
who can you trust, if not your own mind? you let yourself down.
the world is suddenly terrifying so you want to quit your job
and move into the woods so you can turn into a tree,
and just sit and become wrinkled and swirly,
the world being so irreparable now,
now that something you had all figured out was lost.
it's because you never got acquianted with yourself,
your mind just needs a friend,
and you are its abusive father.
staring at the desk next to you, swirling wood grain sits still
and you blink a few times because blinking helps with tears,
It's been months, you'd nearly forgotten, but today you saw it and it spoke
further information about your misery, no i am not there it said.
you sat the rest of the day with bats in your head,
you moved like a zombie at the proper times,
you mumbled at people and didn't look in the mirror.
it took a while to get home because you didn't want to be there
or anywhere,
you wanted to be someone else and your skin crawled when you got inside
you got in the door and all the signs of your existance were all around you,
so you lay your things down and crawled in bed to stare
at the wood grain swirls
and welcome death.
It stayed 6:37 for a long time,
so long that by 6:38 you'd come to a conclusion - the mind works best in movement.
you got up and walked outside in the rainy hidden sun setting.
you walked on streets, and curbs, and slanted lawns for a long time,
it got pitch black and you were soaked, your mind running high
but not without rusty groans,
so many images of it, and places where it might be flicker through a projector
as cars drive by and people glance suspiciously
at your dark coat, scarf hanging, rainy walk at night.
water ran down your face - it felt like numb tears, it felt like something,
and being alive as no longer a fight against expectations,
life was a rivulet that grazed your cheek and dripped off your chin,
a self-inflicted struggle,
just a moment of sadness, and you feel that it should pass but
you never want to get home because
you've lost track of time and self and would prefer to keep it that way
you'd prefer to disappear in a fog and let the clocks say 6:38 all night
and just leave one bit of your mind in the world to keep your legs moving
while the rest of it lives out your fictional life for you.
you're going to wake up tomorrow,
nothing will have changed, and the rain will still fall,
and you'll pace, impatient zombie,
when the sun is hiding.
no i am not there, and even if it was you'd still need constant stimulation
always reaching for something to scratch raw with your analyzation,
mental rearrangement,
as though you could change the world by thinking enough,
as though a new conclusion could be derived
by beating it bloody within the walls of your mind.
you had it backed in a corner, did you,
thought you had every inch woven shut in webs, but he slipped away-
your mind is angry.
if you could overlook this, what good is any of it?
why live without any control?
who can you trust, if not your own mind? you let yourself down.
the world is suddenly terrifying so you want to quit your job
and move into the woods so you can turn into a tree,
and just sit and become wrinkled and swirly,
the world being so irreparable now,
now that something you had all figured out was lost.
it's because you never got acquianted with yourself,
your mind just needs a friend,
and you are its abusive father.