bad days happen like sad songs played on the radio reminding you sometimes life has a way of being trite there is nothing trite about this just take me outside to the sky we prevail and make me happy after a night of violent sleep with the watchful Azriel not one to mince words, I'm here to do the devil's work and don't depend on others because we're all just one heartbeat away from a hospital visit we'll never see she was just an autumn fling that somehow dragged out to eight years of best friends forever instant the words are said, it's over and all that's left is an incomplete set of memories the cost of war, she was too frail for this world you can't infect my mind, I'm too frail to let you in I'm taking the long ride home please don't tell me everything is wonderful now
Whirling twirling spinning 'round Candy-coated smiles Dangling, hanging upside-down Slay them in the aisles Kill them one and kill them all Love them hate them fear them all Hating self for what one is Cannot flee your mind's true self Cannot change it, bend or bow Wistful hoping dreaming slut Hanging back and keeping mum Knowing feeling all-aware Fully well perceiving Can't fit in Won't fit in Want to fit in Want to stand out Flourishing? Dying Dreaming Fleeing Bursting up and bursting out Of that Cotton-candy coccoon Soft Sweet Prison
Cry aloud
I'm sitting there, sweating, aching. My head is pounding and I feel dizzy, light-headed. Occasionally a wracking cough shakes my body. People glance at me, move away. They fear the germs I'm spreading. My eyes meet theirs and slide away. I am ashamed for wanting company, ashamed for not hiding away in my cave of a bedroom where I feel suicidal and unhappy. I ought to leave, protect these people from the plague I carry with me.
And yet I don't.
My heart pounds in time with my headache. There is a pain behind my eyes, telling me my body wants sleep, and a pain in my stomach, saying, "feed me" while my stomach clenches up at every smell and utters a small postscript, saying, "but not that."
I ache for company, companionship. I long for someone to rub my back, stroke my head, tell me it's alright and comfort me in my misery. I wish someone would give me a hug. I wish my mother were here to tuck me into bed and bring me hot soup and sing me lullabies as I drift off to sleep.
Instead, this will have to do. This empty hole where no one acknowledges my presence. This island in the crowds.
The strain behind my eyes is worse. The tears fight to rise to the surface.
I fight them back. It's no use. I refuse to give in to self-pity.
This clearly isn't helping. I rise, giving in to the crowds, and head out the door. I suppose I'll head home. Perhaps I'll find something there to help the pain. Perhaps I'll find something to numb the aches, soothe the spirits. Perhaps I'll find rest and comfort.
Finally, acknowledgment of my existence. "Thank you! Come again!"
