An infection. Waiting to heal. Pulsing through my skin. Twitching at my bones.
I sit in the corner, nails scraping at the surface of my outer layer. Bleeding from the raptures of agony. Throat dry from the cries of the ruthless pain I feel.
Still I sit with this infection. Waiting for it to heal as it pulses through my skin. As my bones twitch vigorously.
The knee is connected to the leg bone, the leg bone is connected to the hip bone.
The infection has spread. Each connection, covered in scabs. The dead skin edging under my nails as blood starts dripping down. The anxiety of wanting it gone. The anticipation of the pain to grow. Just so you…
The infection. You.
I sit here with you. Waiting for you to heal as every part of you pulses through my skin. As I feel you twitching at my bones.
I feel you. You’re an infection.
I’ve tripped, and I’ve fallen. I’ve made decisions on choices that in the first place, I never wanted to make. My head is filled with words, that it’s ready to explode in any time of day. Insecurities have built up, and I’ve taken the fall, into a sea full of crabs. And being optimistic gets tiring, but being a pessimist drains you more. So what now? I’ve tried to take a step forward, but there are chains wrapped around my ankles and I find myself falling on my knees, scraping themselves on the glass covered path. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, so they say. I try to shy away from my emotions. I try not to fill my head with too many words. I try not to feel anything. What makes you can break you. And there is nothing to do but sit and wait. Things will get better. And I’ll find myself flying instead of falling. The chains around my ankles will break away eventually, and the blood from my knees will be wiped. The shitty now will be then, and soon…then will be a brighter now.
You listen, but are you really listening?
You talk, but do you really mean the words you say?
You see, but have you ever really looked at yourself?
You cry, yet your tears are hidden away from the public.
From reality.
You stare at yourself in the mirror, yet you hardly recognize the eyes staring back at you.
Those eyes that have looked into mine, what used to be warming, now seemingly shallow.
Where did this all come from?
Little by little, pieces are falling from the sky, covering the comforting face that I used to see.
Like a snake revealing a new skin, like a butterfly retreating back into its cocoon.
You can’t see it, you won’t see it.
You’ll just let it happen.
The words that you hear will remain echoes in your head.
The words that you speak will come out empty.
The eyes you see with will remain voluntarily masked.
Where did this all come from?
I ask, yet find no answer.
Cause in reality…it’s not just you behind that mask.
I stare at myself and find shallow eyes staring back.
It’s me too. I too am living behind a mask.
