I’m a night owl, spreading my wings and wishing to shed these feathers for a few layers of soft skin just to make me feel a bit more alive. I’m severely lacking in the area of words, using so many and yet all I really say is nothing. This darkness feels like it’s absorbing me. Maybe this sense of silence is where we were all born. The unknown silence that floats above us just like the clouds that hide the stars. I need a shot of reality because I feel like I’m detaching from something; something very important. I am cigarette smoke, floating through the air. I bet you didn’t even notice I was there, but I’m a lethal dose of hydrogen cyanide. This is my departing; it feels like I’m letting go.
It’s hard to breathe, absolutely suffocating. I want to get rid of these self-pitying words that speak through your monitor of regret and fantasy. The pursuit of happiness. Wasn’t a smile what we were searching for? When did we find ourselves lost in the forest and start heading to the 9th layer? I’m a wanderer. My mind walks away so easily. I’m a ponderer, reflecting upon each second that passed and so I lose each second that comes. This mirror is cold and it displays each of my flaws as if the world could see. They do, and when they don’t I dream about them seeing.
Eyes, the window to your soul. If I could stare into one pair of eyes for eternity, I think I could set myself free. I think the doctor’s diagnosis was chronic loneliness, but I guess they gave it a fancy name called depression, also known as the best friend of anxiety. Tell me what to do, I want to stop thinking. Maybe then I could force the blame on someone else. Taint someone else. Kill someone else. This dreamer finally woke up and realized Neverland never was and romance novels are written by people that are just as lonely as you.
I reach out my hand and it blends in with the darkness that rests in the air, tempting me to close my eyes, to escape again. It feels as if I’ll collapse from the glares over my shoulder and the bags under my eyes. I apologize for the lack of poetic words, maybe you should prescribe a few pills to make me witty while you’ve got the pad out, doctor.
I’m so tired of waking up to new days. It’s 5:00 AM; will you think of me if I think of you?
Rikki [not romance]