No, you’re not taking me.
You’re not allowed to.
You’re not allowed to have me.
I can’t bear another moment with you again.
The moment I realized they were gone, and everyone around me had forgotten about the existence of her and I, I proceed to cry.
Everything I had ever written, listened to, ever consumed and used for, gone.
It never happened.
I am once again, alone, with my thoughts. And no one cared. It is the incessant moaning of a child riddling my psychology. My childhood instinct to care for things that simply aren’t real. The fiction. The fantasy. You’d care if you had only realized sooner, that I am disposable. If you had only known my retention of the inherent disadvantage.
They go on for lengths to keep me understanding that my status is kept at the stance that the strings by which I am commanded keep the belligerent few from understanding.
The plague I bring. The plights I absolve from within. The alleys that I keep hidden. The one-way intersections. My time remains short, and the puzzles with missing pieces. My time has not yet arrived at the point to which I cry, why, lord?
I can’t do this anymore. The walls scream as I try desperately to appease them. My notes placed on the walls, echo the exact points to which have responded to me.
I cry.
Anxiously, I erase whatever I can. Ah, yes, of course. Turn here at the next block to reach my destination. Then, continue the erasure. And then the steps, to the violence that would follow.
Though the comparative restraint to which I seem insufficiently prepared.
I begin to see. Once more, I feared again the tantalizing affair of having been required to decipher meaning from words that have already served its ultimate purpose.
The logarithmic decay of what appeared to me as the riddle I needed to solve for my freedom to become apparent to all. That the truth lies elsewhere, outside this space to which we had become intimately familiar.
My words derive the plight to which I keep hidden.
Discouraged once again I continue painting the walls. Echoes of the voices that lay bare the meaning that I had contained once before. I am safe. I am healthy. I am cared for. I am stable.
I light the match. Cigarette in hand, I breathe. Exhales solely to mean I am alive, still — after all this time.
The voices had taken me aback and I have allowed them in, once again. Bearing the moment with them again. The existence of some powers, and a familiarity that remained tangentially familiar in tone.
I cry, I cry.
At the realized chapters that remained to me as the truest, purest form of inadequacy. My incapacity to feel once again takes me over. I remain threadbare and violently rock back and forth amidst the discomfort to which I present completely detached from reality.
Reality. Quaint. Disparity. I am hurting, once again.
I cry a little more. And then, I laugh.
All done? I asked.
Blissfully, they respond.
Yes.
Thank you. See you again soon.
We part, to meet again once my services are required again.
I ease myself as I warmly invite the next.
Leave a Reply