Coming undone.
The rains have come, once again. In sheets, it falls, in sheets, and I am there...
I lie between them, nestled in the darkness and comfort. Nestled in escape. I have learned that sometimes, sleep is my only place to truly be left alone. It's not that I mind people, but sometimes I just want to fly to the far corners of my brain.
Sometimes, I just want to be somewhere else.
So it falls and there's the darkness of it... A million ways to write the sky, a million images that will come along with it. Yes, we made love to the sounds of it, but it's a far, hazy memory and we collapsed into ourselves afterward.
In shifts like these, nothing seems real. The cat's eye has a blue gleam in it, it's telling me things, it's morphing into a monster. You are not here, but there. You are not there, but everywhere. And I see through it.
Mania seized my brain. For a week, the sky was bright and dry. For a week, I went through the motions, most mechanical, smile here, nod there, don't let the drama eat away at you. I made my sisters unforgivably angry. And there, I knew I couldn't fight it much anymore, that sometimes the only option is to swallow it and tinker on. My hands have been working, working along with my mouth.
And as I struggled and fretted in the speed of the clock, I felt my grasp coming undone. We can talk, talk talk all we want but it doesn't mean a damn thing without the action. I am alone and isolated. People, they move too slow, then too fast. My eyes cannot keep up. I have to sleep.
The sky grew dark, as if heeding to a prayer that I may have uttered on my final breath of energy, and the rains came flooding in. Sheets of it, between the sheets, I am between your sheets, and you are not here.
I am...
I lie between them, nestled in the darkness and comfort. Nestled in escape. I have learned that sometimes, sleep is my only place to truly be left alone. It's not that I mind people, but sometimes I just want to fly to the far corners of my brain.
Sometimes, I just want to be somewhere else.
So it falls and there's the darkness of it... A million ways to write the sky, a million images that will come along with it. Yes, we made love to the sounds of it, but it's a far, hazy memory and we collapsed into ourselves afterward.
In shifts like these, nothing seems real. The cat's eye has a blue gleam in it, it's telling me things, it's morphing into a monster. You are not here, but there. You are not there, but everywhere. And I see through it.
Mania seized my brain. For a week, the sky was bright and dry. For a week, I went through the motions, most mechanical, smile here, nod there, don't let the drama eat away at you. I made my sisters unforgivably angry. And there, I knew I couldn't fight it much anymore, that sometimes the only option is to swallow it and tinker on. My hands have been working, working along with my mouth.
And as I struggled and fretted in the speed of the clock, I felt my grasp coming undone. We can talk, talk talk all we want but it doesn't mean a damn thing without the action. I am alone and isolated. People, they move too slow, then too fast. My eyes cannot keep up. I have to sleep.
The sky grew dark, as if heeding to a prayer that I may have uttered on my final breath of energy, and the rains came flooding in. Sheets of it, between the sheets, I am between your sheets, and you are not here.
I am...