You Cry, Baby.
[mood|
depressed]
[music|Aruku*Babies - Aya]
My room is empty, isn't it? Just a broken music box and shards of some crystal flower vase, flowerless, and a picture of you, tucked away in the corner, so nobody can hurt it.
Good things are happening... not how I'd like them to, and they require work, and pain, but they are happening. And I have had to do it myself. And it makes me sick.
I walk through this desolate playground, bodies all around me. Remnants of the battles I've fought and won. I'm only bruising around my eyes, a torture device I implemented on myself. And it's so lonely, so quiet, everybody's dead. They don't stare at me.
I look up, and you're silhouetted against the grey sky, your dark hair flying around in mad loose curls, amidst your pale skin and dark eyeliner, your eyes shine with an unearthly blue glow. And I feel colder and empty than if I were alone. You look crazy, you look beautiful, you look evil and I look afraid. It's not that I don't love you, Mommy. I just wish I didn't have to. I wish you hadn't been the one to raise me. Not that you aren't my beautiful deity of some sort of inner longing to be you; to be pretty like you, and smart like you, and call myself a strong woman like you and disappear and lose myself into the guise of what I call you. It's not that I don't wish you'd told me everything you knew; taught me to see beauty in ugly things and love them and ugliness in beauty and call it disgusting, taught me to spin stories through my lips like painting through my fingers. Not that I would have, could have chosen to be taken care of by anybody else. I like how I am. I like how you made me. I liked being with you. I just wish I could have been that daughter you wanted, instead of that nephew whose parents didn't want him. I wish things could have been different, like I wish I could fall in love different, and be happy different, and get home different. They work, but it hurts more getting to them than the initial happiness that reaches me.
And your icy hand squeezes mine and I can see you breaking like a fallen water-filled globe with little flowers locked inside.
And I wish you hadn't left me on my own before telling me how much I was going to hurt when I found that love wasn't like you.
depressed]
[music|Aruku*Babies - Aya]
My room is empty, isn't it? Just a broken music box and shards of some crystal flower vase, flowerless, and a picture of you, tucked away in the corner, so nobody can hurt it.
Good things are happening... not how I'd like them to, and they require work, and pain, but they are happening. And I have had to do it myself. And it makes me sick.
I walk through this desolate playground, bodies all around me. Remnants of the battles I've fought and won. I'm only bruising around my eyes, a torture device I implemented on myself. And it's so lonely, so quiet, everybody's dead. They don't stare at me.
I look up, and you're silhouetted against the grey sky, your dark hair flying around in mad loose curls, amidst your pale skin and dark eyeliner, your eyes shine with an unearthly blue glow. And I feel colder and empty than if I were alone. You look crazy, you look beautiful, you look evil and I look afraid. It's not that I don't love you, Mommy. I just wish I didn't have to. I wish you hadn't been the one to raise me. Not that you aren't my beautiful deity of some sort of inner longing to be you; to be pretty like you, and smart like you, and call myself a strong woman like you and disappear and lose myself into the guise of what I call you. It's not that I don't wish you'd told me everything you knew; taught me to see beauty in ugly things and love them and ugliness in beauty and call it disgusting, taught me to spin stories through my lips like painting through my fingers. Not that I would have, could have chosen to be taken care of by anybody else. I like how I am. I like how you made me. I liked being with you. I just wish I could have been that daughter you wanted, instead of that nephew whose parents didn't want him. I wish things could have been different, like I wish I could fall in love different, and be happy different, and get home different. They work, but it hurts more getting to them than the initial happiness that reaches me.
And your icy hand squeezes mine and I can see you breaking like a fallen water-filled globe with little flowers locked inside.
And I wish you hadn't left me on my own before telling me how much I was going to hurt when I found that love wasn't like you.