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Sanity
15 years ago
I don't know what I'm going to say here, so I'm just typing.
It's like the wallpaper of my world is ripping and falling to reveal something I know can't exist. I see. I feel. I smell. I hear. I know it's not real, but it won't leave me alone.
How do I function? Knowing I'm human; seeing and smelling and touching the world -- while the dark twisting shadows take form behind me, and tell me I'm something impossibly "other". Some mix-matching creature inside of the truth.
I know that I'm human, and I know that I'm not, but I don't want to know what I am when I'm not. I want to be me, whatever "me" is, so I'll wear human skin for as long as I have to, and deal with the monster-shaped bridge when I get there... if I get there... if my road even goes down that far.
But the monster-shaped bridge isn't always so patient -- it huffs and it puffs and it knocks the world over and I fall down. Down, to the earth that never existed, in my head.
And the monster-shaped bridge has such beautiful eyes, and such cold, hungry fangs, and such a beautiful broken heart. And the tears become the stream that flows down to my dreams and fills me up with the nonsense taking over my life.
And the monster-shaped bridge can cry tears that are gold, and give me hope, and shine bright like a sea full of diamonds, or the bridge can cry cold, black tears that take hold and drag me down to the world that never existed, in my head.
That world is full of people, and places no one's ever been, and they're good and they're bad, just like you. And the world can be beautiful, and the world can be ugly, and I can sing, or I can scream, or I can love, or I can hate you. But that's not your fault.
I'm a beast in my heart -- locked away, so no one can break the curse I've put on myself. So I'll kill, and destroy everything I enjoy, even before I open my eyes. And I'll see, but not feel, anything that is real, as the blackest tears swallow me, pull me down... I can't breathe.
Then I wake up and face the day, and that monster inside me that won't go away. I do what I can to be just like every other fake person I see, so they only see the good that I can't see in myself. And everything's beautiful, and we're all okay, until we go back to our little black box, full of little black tears, and go back to places we don't belong.
. . . The words have stopped. Please, don't take this too seriously, or copy any of these words without permission.
It's like the wallpaper of my world is ripping and falling to reveal something I know can't exist. I see. I feel. I smell. I hear. I know it's not real, but it won't leave me alone.
How do I function? Knowing I'm human; seeing and smelling and touching the world -- while the dark twisting shadows take form behind me, and tell me I'm something impossibly "other". Some mix-matching creature inside of the truth.
I know that I'm human, and I know that I'm not, but I don't want to know what I am when I'm not. I want to be me, whatever "me" is, so I'll wear human skin for as long as I have to, and deal with the monster-shaped bridge when I get there... if I get there... if my road even goes down that far.
But the monster-shaped bridge isn't always so patient -- it huffs and it puffs and it knocks the world over and I fall down. Down, to the earth that never existed, in my head.
And the monster-shaped bridge has such beautiful eyes, and such cold, hungry fangs, and such a beautiful broken heart. And the tears become the stream that flows down to my dreams and fills me up with the nonsense taking over my life.
And the monster-shaped bridge can cry tears that are gold, and give me hope, and shine bright like a sea full of diamonds, or the bridge can cry cold, black tears that take hold and drag me down to the world that never existed, in my head.
That world is full of people, and places no one's ever been, and they're good and they're bad, just like you. And the world can be beautiful, and the world can be ugly, and I can sing, or I can scream, or I can love, or I can hate you. But that's not your fault.
I'm a beast in my heart -- locked away, so no one can break the curse I've put on myself. So I'll kill, and destroy everything I enjoy, even before I open my eyes. And I'll see, but not feel, anything that is real, as the blackest tears swallow me, pull me down... I can't breathe.
Then I wake up and face the day, and that monster inside me that won't go away. I do what I can to be just like every other fake person I see, so they only see the good that I can't see in myself. And everything's beautiful, and we're all okay, until we go back to our little black box, full of little black tears, and go back to places we don't belong.
. . . The words have stopped. Please, don't take this too seriously, or copy any of these words without permission.
Glad you like it, I guess... it kinda all sounds like gibberish to me.