What exists
There's
numb. And there's the hot feeling in your face when you've
realized that you're completely and utterly destroyed. You're
drunk and you're typing quick, you've overwhelmed yourself with
worries. Anything could come out into the open now, like open sores that haven't started to scab yet.
And you're worrying about things you can't control, you're trying to reconcile the idea that part of your life is gone, or will be quite soon, and you don't want another piece of your soul to be sucked out. There's a whirlwind of confusion, we're talking the up and down daily emotional bullshit you're putting yourself through. And though you need some calm, you need a little bit of rest and control, time isn't something that exists.
There's disappointment, and looking forward to disappointment, but the promise of some happiness in between. And the world outside you does not exist except to provide some background noise to your life. There's the feel of a body pressing against you, there's a hug that turns into an embrace. It stiffens, and rigor mortis sets in, and you can't let go if you tried.
People run their mouths around you, but there's no hearing them.
There's breath, and the heat on your face. There's the feel of it all over your neck, blistering heat sweltering the oxygen right out of the air. There's the word you can't say, the face you can't describe, and all the emotions you want to scream out at the world. And in the middle of that, strangling everything, is the control you muster in the face of what drives you. There's the stifling feeling of being under a ton of rock, pressed there until its impossible to even squeeze out a few more tears.
And in the middle of this, there's the real world. There's the class you have to teach in the morning, and the second job you have to go to after school. But in all those cracks, all the seconds where you're allowed a breath to think, there's nothing but a slow torture exploding into a beautiful, regretful agony.
And you're worrying about things you can't control, you're trying to reconcile the idea that part of your life is gone, or will be quite soon, and you don't want another piece of your soul to be sucked out. There's a whirlwind of confusion, we're talking the up and down daily emotional bullshit you're putting yourself through. And though you need some calm, you need a little bit of rest and control, time isn't something that exists.
There's disappointment, and looking forward to disappointment, but the promise of some happiness in between. And the world outside you does not exist except to provide some background noise to your life. There's the feel of a body pressing against you, there's a hug that turns into an embrace. It stiffens, and rigor mortis sets in, and you can't let go if you tried.
People run their mouths around you, but there's no hearing them.
There's breath, and the heat on your face. There's the feel of it all over your neck, blistering heat sweltering the oxygen right out of the air. There's the word you can't say, the face you can't describe, and all the emotions you want to scream out at the world. And in the middle of that, strangling everything, is the control you muster in the face of what drives you. There's the stifling feeling of being under a ton of rock, pressed there until its impossible to even squeeze out a few more tears.
And in the middle of this, there's the real world. There's the class you have to teach in the morning, and the second job you have to go to after school. But in all those cracks, all the seconds where you're allowed a breath to think, there's nothing but a slow torture exploding into a beautiful, regretful agony.