And they said the only thing I'm really good at is running away.
I had to listen to CocoRosie just to finally wake her up. This head is about to explode with creeping mistakes condemning me from the dead. Why do I only yearn to write when I'm on the verge of crashing? Like something is about to tear my guts out?
My hands are desperate to be held while my body can't wait to escape. I'm floating in place while my heart is being dragged down in chains. Freedom is a thousand miles away and I must be running barefoot on thorns because the hem of this dress isn't supposed to be this bloody. Now I'm walking in all fours and having a hard time keeping my pieces intact. Help.
Vomit. Flowers. Bones. Glitters. Flesh. Grass. I need to be touching something. I'm still here. And I'm in possession of the only real weapon against myself.
Sweating is good for the brain. Nature Spring, nature spring water. It sounded like something straight out of a trippy dream. Think 80's VHS and elevator music. Suddenly someone's pulling the trigger straight into your head. Bang. Balloons and confetti. These bright colors are not to blame for the crippling existential crisis. If devoid of all distractions, I'd still wake up realizing I only have myself to deceive.
Thank you Meenbean for the inspiration.