bleeding our colors
I am livid and then apologetic.
I am vicious and then fragile.
I am unconcerned.
-*-*-*-
This morning, I was a plastic bag, full of air and static and packing peanuts. A premonition, really, I felt someone shaking me before it even happened. And then there I was again, full of creative energy and absolutely no outlet. I watched the sunrise from between my windshield wipers, peppered by passing cars and street signs. I wanted to take my hands off the wheel, close my eyes, and slowly drift into oncoming traffic.
I am claustrophobic. I need to get the hell out of this place. My world is flat and colorless and the monotony is stealing my enthusiasm. I don't think I can take another day of nothing. Every night is a disappointing failure.
It makes me furious that everyone (especially you) (especially me) make me feel like I'm fooling myself. Who the hell do you people think you are? In your boundless efforts to appease, you've only confused me. There's this low quiet hum buzzing in my chest, a fever that is building, a rage with breath-taking consequenses.
-"Wow. You're so smart. You're brilliant. What exactly are you capable of?"
-"Hey, you. Shut the fuck up."
So you take this and sleep on it. This potential that you're referring to- it's only accumulating, evolving, surpassing yours.
Maybe I hate that you think I'm tame and trustworthy. Maybe I hate that you think I'm so non-threatening. That I couldn't do anything to hurt you. That I wouldn't stab you in the chest and then smile as the breath left your lungs. Smile as your eyes widened in surprise; laugh, because I warned you. Seriously, you only believe in my innocence because you don't know what runs through my mind. Because even if I told you what I am capable of, what I've considered, you wouldn't believe me.
I am only lying in wait... and I will be your bloody end.
"keep you in the dark
you know they all pretend"
I am vicious and then fragile.
I am unconcerned.
-*-*-*-
This morning, I was a plastic bag, full of air and static and packing peanuts. A premonition, really, I felt someone shaking me before it even happened. And then there I was again, full of creative energy and absolutely no outlet. I watched the sunrise from between my windshield wipers, peppered by passing cars and street signs. I wanted to take my hands off the wheel, close my eyes, and slowly drift into oncoming traffic.
I am claustrophobic. I need to get the hell out of this place. My world is flat and colorless and the monotony is stealing my enthusiasm. I don't think I can take another day of nothing. Every night is a disappointing failure.
It makes me furious that everyone (especially you) (especially me) make me feel like I'm fooling myself. Who the hell do you people think you are? In your boundless efforts to appease, you've only confused me. There's this low quiet hum buzzing in my chest, a fever that is building, a rage with breath-taking consequenses.
-"Wow. You're so smart. You're brilliant. What exactly are you capable of?"
-"Hey, you. Shut the fuck up."
So you take this and sleep on it. This potential that you're referring to- it's only accumulating, evolving, surpassing yours.
Maybe I hate that you think I'm tame and trustworthy. Maybe I hate that you think I'm so non-threatening. That I couldn't do anything to hurt you. That I wouldn't stab you in the chest and then smile as the breath left your lungs. Smile as your eyes widened in surprise; laugh, because I warned you. Seriously, you only believe in my innocence because you don't know what runs through my mind. Because even if I told you what I am capable of, what I've considered, you wouldn't believe me.
I am only lying in wait... and I will be your bloody end.
"keep you in the dark
you know they all pretend"