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;or Broken Toy Syndrome; or a Far Slam from Decency.Troubles of extreme mental discomfort. |
Have you ever felt like dying just because you wanted to feel THAT way, a parasol drifting, ripped into a tree after too much turbulence? I hope you don’t grow to resent me for those words and these calls all each day a mirror stretching onward in forever Time is like my mind—pressing ever inward because the out is too far; It’s warped and tied up and left clear like a scar one can see into and pick at your best nightmares But really it’s a lie because that’s what I’m describing… Don’t you see Through words that are buzzing yet fleeing from my body in excess. The word “Help” is all I can manage to watch fly through the room; The rest! to me are stone-carved balloons. Pointless. And yeah I did it—this drug—and yeah I overdosed— I did!— on all those little pink pills made in the shape of one breath. Too many, too little exists to satiate my lungs I’ve taken this life for near as never Razors scrape my mind—every inside surface— and bind and it hurts But I’m worthless like and praying for dirt naps, scraps of tangible dignity, soft water in the throat; But no those are tears streaming and climbing up out of me like demons and, like water falls, hard and painful Do you know these? Panic attacks in the form of silent reservation in a crowded street at work in the arsenic of raining hearts and desert faces And panic attacks and existential cracks as screams enveloping the streets for minute miles as I drive around slinging up hope like rain water across the sidewalks, all the while singing, bringing those screams emanating from my car and me like a captive passenger; but no one comes, no one cares, about the prisoner who’s trapped in there But as I said, these are thoughts, merely drought in an ocean tide— just thoughts from a child of naught and of night and of naught but terror— yes, terror—and light doses and heavy warnings Everyday, I’m cauterizing cuticles of synapse and syntax and I can’t “just relax” because if I do I’ll snap right into a relapse much like a gun with its recoil laughter Please, don’t patronize me Don’t anchor-tie me while I capsize my eyes with caps the size— and capsules, besides, the size— of my pride—small but many and darkness It doesn’t matter their age; people don’t want the toy that is broken, and the same goes for people with too much emotion. These thoughts are spinning and now, I...I’m choking on ropes that are made of too-thick veins I can’t sever or deliver myself from these thoughts in my brain. But they’re just thoughts, I swear they’re only tangible thoughts. For no man can kill me, and no woman (But I’m not a man, I’m a soul in division!) I’m already dead; when I died all they found was my blood made from cyanide; my body was only blank space to you No, not you! I’m sorry. Who am I to blame nature for working as intended? I am the off-brand liquor staining the carpet floor— a deep auburn muse— knocked from careless stupors, poorly used, poured in thick bright drops glinting from the bottle I’m the broken glass, too, scattered in the way a bird takes nectar and pollen; no matter what you do, you’ll never pick up all of me. I’m sorry I couldn’t be a better anything. You deserve to have your own dreams: all those butterflies with razor blades for wings; all those sirens that dare to sing your name across the warping sidewalk city; all those pensive pendants with fallen stars for beads. Don’t just read my face, my eyes, Don’t just read my stupid guise; It’s all lies and it’s all a display when I tell you I’m fine or “No, I’m okay…”; when you ask if something’s wrong. All along, we’ve been friends, but I’ve been that before and I know how it ends: First, my heart lends itself to your ears and the next thing I know my mind’s full of paling tears and concrete fear of the next great abandonment soon to take place some “years” from now and I just can’t handle it. It’s all just for granted. I’m sorry. I told you, my years go by in the minutes of days. The only phrase I have strength to say enough of is I’m sorry… I suppose you probably resent me now. That’s perfectly fine because so do I! Don’t hate that fact, all your hatred’s for me. Remember? That’s how it should be. The only thing I can plead is I’m sorry Just promise me one thing—that you won’t be the mirror of me Don’t devil up or give the world down, Lizzy You are my best friend; Death is only an acquaintance. |