"I was the crazy one" and "Cry aloud"
I was the crazy one
Sorry this is late...I've been sick all week >_<
Whirling twirling spinning 'round
Candy-coated smiles
Dangling, hanging upside-down
Slay them in the aisles
Kill them one and kill them all
Love them hate them fear them all
Hating self for what one is
Cannot flee your mind's true self
Cannot change it, bend or bow
Wistful hoping dreaming slut
Hanging back and keeping mum
Knowing feeling all-aware
Fully well perceiving
Can't fit in
Won't fit in
Want to fit in
Want to stand out
Flourishing?
Dying
Dreaming
Fleeing
Bursting up and bursting out
Of that
Cotton-candy coccoon
Soft
Sweet
Prison
Cry aloud
I'm sitting there, sweating, aching. My head is pounding and I feel dizzy, light-headed. Occasionally a wracking cough shakes my body. People glance at me, move away. They fear the germs I'm spreading. My eyes meet theirs and slide away. I am ashamed for wanting company, ashamed for not hiding away in my cave of a bedroom where I feel suicidal and unhappy. I ought to leave, protect these people from the plague I carry with me.
And yet I don't.
My heart pounds in time with my headache. There is a pain behind my eyes, telling me my body wants sleep, and a pain in my stomach, saying, "feed me" while my stomach clenches up at every smell and utters a small postscript, saying, "but not that."
I ache for company, companionship. I long for someone to rub my back, stroke my head, tell me it's alright and comfort me in my misery. I wish someone would give me a hug. I wish my mother were here to tuck me into bed and bring me hot soup and sing me lullabies as I drift off to sleep.
Instead, this will have to do. This empty hole where no one acknowledges my presence. This island in the crowds.
The strain behind my eyes is worse. The tears fight to rise to the surface.
I fight them back. It's no use. I refuse to give in to self-pity.
This clearly isn't helping. I rise, giving in to the crowds, and head out the door. I suppose I'll head home. Perhaps I'll find something there to help the pain. Perhaps I'll find something to numb the aches, soothe the spirits. Perhaps I'll find rest and comfort.
Finally, acknowledgment of my existence. "Thank you! Come again!"
Sorry this is late...I've been sick all week >_<
Whirling twirling spinning 'round
Candy-coated smiles
Dangling, hanging upside-down
Slay them in the aisles
Kill them one and kill them all
Love them hate them fear them all
Hating self for what one is
Cannot flee your mind's true self
Cannot change it, bend or bow
Wistful hoping dreaming slut
Hanging back and keeping mum
Knowing feeling all-aware
Fully well perceiving
Can't fit in
Won't fit in
Want to fit in
Want to stand out
Flourishing?
Dying
Dreaming
Fleeing
Bursting up and bursting out
Of that
Cotton-candy coccoon
Soft
Sweet
Prison
Cry aloud
I'm sitting there, sweating, aching. My head is pounding and I feel dizzy, light-headed. Occasionally a wracking cough shakes my body. People glance at me, move away. They fear the germs I'm spreading. My eyes meet theirs and slide away. I am ashamed for wanting company, ashamed for not hiding away in my cave of a bedroom where I feel suicidal and unhappy. I ought to leave, protect these people from the plague I carry with me.
And yet I don't.
My heart pounds in time with my headache. There is a pain behind my eyes, telling me my body wants sleep, and a pain in my stomach, saying, "feed me" while my stomach clenches up at every smell and utters a small postscript, saying, "but not that."
I ache for company, companionship. I long for someone to rub my back, stroke my head, tell me it's alright and comfort me in my misery. I wish someone would give me a hug. I wish my mother were here to tuck me into bed and bring me hot soup and sing me lullabies as I drift off to sleep.
Instead, this will have to do. This empty hole where no one acknowledges my presence. This island in the crowds.
The strain behind my eyes is worse. The tears fight to rise to the surface.
I fight them back. It's no use. I refuse to give in to self-pity.
This clearly isn't helping. I rise, giving in to the crowds, and head out the door. I suppose I'll head home. Perhaps I'll find something there to help the pain. Perhaps I'll find something to numb the aches, soothe the spirits. Perhaps I'll find rest and comfort.
Finally, acknowledgment of my existence. "Thank you! Come again!"