It is our conversations that bring comfort throughout my
inner being.
I thrive by engulfing my ears in the words seeping out of
your lips and rolling off your tongue.
Unusual, but healing clarification presents itself.
Keep talking…
Generated using similar wires, normalcy is found.
Feeling singled out is no longer an issue.
Pausing.
Inside I feel connection and their exchange of words I
can almost hear.
It becomes an investment of mutual awareness.
An awareness of fucked up.
You’re returning to that state, a recollection of events
and situations arise and a familiar form of mental exhaustion takes over.
Cluttered minds – racing and relating.
It is apparent that the “power button” is no longer visible.
Incapable of shutting down, you’re found trapped inside a
world where make believe and real life have no true definition.
The lines blurred.
I find myself begging inside, to take me with you.
Please take me…
It is simply complex.
The variations are unbearable and slowly denial seeps in.
Your confessed alibi to others means nothing, and your
actions have meant everything.
For every day composure, physically draining yourself
becomes a must rather than an option.
No one around you understands.
At least not the ones who need too.
Keeping up with fictitious mental activity is crippling,
but you find you can manage.
Physically racing, leaves the thought process muted and
with that ounce of relief comes visible knowledge of the damage – unfortunately
you created.
Isolation becomes an appealing solution and relationships
then deteriorate.
Intimidated by death, abandoned, and yet all is assured
by the voices within.
The liquid cascades down your throat, burning flesh and you
find it surprisingly tasteful.
Followed by pills, and decisions so appalling those containing
the most forgiveness soon start to question.
Like a bomb detonating, failure sets in and the ticking
of the clock pounds inside your skull.
You envision a life much quieter.
I retract from my own thoughts, allowing my tears to
simmer.
Breaking down, my body aches for you – I am affected.
Forgive me?
Breathing deeply, it is apparent that your mental affliction
and compacted lifestyle wasn’t enough to intimidate even death itself.
It was however, enough to cause chaos.
Fucking up the lives of ones you care deeply about.
And still you promise.
There was no intention.
No intention of jeopardizing futures underdetermined.
You swear it was involuntary.
Negative memories burning deep, overriding positive
possibilities.
It’s just enough to allow another painful breath and
enough to be coherent in dealing with the aftermath of your destruction.
Debris of others affected are scattered and with it lies
the explanations and solutions too damaged to comprehend.
You try to collect the remains, and easily find yourself
defeated by thoughts, conversations…
Overstimulated by background noise and attempting to keep
up with current subjects of “normal” life.
So you swallow and wait…
For you I am waiting…
Days go by – you may just make it.
Pills prescribed and directions to follow.
If only it were that simple.
You’re operating and they see the “normal” you.
I see the fucked up you.
It lies beneath the medication and yet if you think about
it hard enough the process repeats.
This time the “power button” is visible, however, just
barely out of reach.
