uncov

I get really scared when i can actually feel my heart beating in my chest.  It reminds me of my mortality and that I’m powerless over its function.  I used to get these certain thoughts that I couldn’t shake right before I fell asleep.  You try and not think of them, but they would find their way into my stream of exhaustion.  One would be if I could mentally stop my heart.  If i told my brain to just make it stop beating.  Just if i kept repeating it would that happen.  I would get freaked out and try to think of anything but this certain thought.  It’s scary thought for a child, it follows along the same line of being in the bathroom and repeating “bloody mary”  however hard you try and stop that thought it always would find my way.  I made sure to hurriedly turn on the light when I got in at night and make sure I was out of the bathroom quickly when the lights went off.

i cannot help but be awake.  the tiny raindrops are falling outside this bedroom window.  a bedroom belonging to none other than the person i long for the most.  the real me.  the unedited version who sees nothing more than beauty beyond the first glace.  how desperately voided her life has become.  thoughts come and go as those of strangers in our life.  focus on one part, ignore the rest.  that’s right isn’t it.  no. not really.  it’s what they want you to believe.  What we’re taught in the class of self-help.  bullshit i say, loud and yet so quite that not even i believe my words.  how true spoke the gentleman who visits me in my dreams ever so often.  how true purrs the cat who passes by the house looking for food.  and yet in the very slim chance of things, simple sporadic thoughts, run into one another.  emphasis on simple. something has to encompass this brainless nit.  for far and subdued are her life choices. only you. only you. only you. if you say it or write it enough maybe you will believe it.  only you can change yourself.  do this for you. only you.  what if i don’t have enough like in my to want to do that. what if i need an outside force besides that, the love of a mother, besides that.  i don’t. i can’t. i probably won’t ever.

day one.

I keep thinking that she will be back.  What happened, how did everything in her life come down to this.  She glances down at her baby pink flats and gently kicks at the lush grass.  If only just only her soul was as alive as this lawn.  It’s lawn that belongs to no one.  For sale.  She thinks quietly to  herself, if only.  If only I could buy this, would that automatically give me home.  What is a home?  A place to collect thoughts in jars and display accordingly on the shelves above the light sockets.  Is it a place to rest your body, to end the tiredness.  Is is a fortress to keep the love she desperately wants to give.  How has everyday life become so difficult, how has our villain become the needy and rotten person she is today.  She can with every word out of a strangers mouth find the dishonesty and the hate.  She has no friends, because they too will turn to enemies.  The lies and the deception.  What was it all for.  She became this way because of society, because of the heartless haters.  She realizes that no matter what, no matter who, she will be hurt and do the hurting.  It can be as simple as finding a penny tarnished on the ground, to flying to an unknown city looking for the wrong answers that this is how it will end.  This villain, this anti-hero, is me.  This is my story.  This is one of many stories.

So the little girl walked up to the brick home, vivid blue in her eyes she is unaware of what will be waiting for her when she knocks on the door.  Slowly stepping towards the looming house she stumbles over a rock, kicking it in the process.  Something shiny catches her sight.  Slowly bending down she scoops up this item that looks brand new.