Light the cigarette, inhale exhale repeat
Hurry before your mother finds out
Pulling you back inside by the ear
Slaps your hand followed with shouts
Pots and pans clank together
Furious tension and disappointed parents
A sore hand and ear march up the stairs
Slam! The door and put your headphones in
reflect about this teenage anger and the
half finished smoke burning out on the sidewalk
Listen to the music, calm down
Vibrations from cheap store brand headphones
more then likely stolen
If I could tally up all the cigarettes that I used to ease my mind from thoughts of you,
check the mail often,
causes there's a few empty packs heading your way.
Along with a hospital bill for some new lungs because mine are fucked up
A pair of thumbs that don't ache from the texts I send
trying to make you feel the same about me.
And lastly a heart that only knows how to pump blood
that doesn't remember the good and bad times
one that doesn't build up the pressure from the past
then fires a pain through my torso wrapping around my ribs
causing me agony in the late nights
Worry not old friends I am better
No more are my Friday nights spent reflecting
on the past and possible futures
It's funny you know
I put my emotions into these words
and in turn produce new ones
A forever reoccurring chemical reaction of
lines potent with the stench of the dark side of my thoughts
and vibrant memories
If I continue to write what will become of me?
In how many words will it take to feel like a normal person
and not a black sheep of society
How many lines of reactions are needed for my personalty to become something anew?
Maybe I will be able to be in a room full of strangers, and walk away with friends
Instead of isolating myself to avoid having those horrible, terrifying things
known as social interactions
What's the big deal if friends of friends dislike you?
It's simple go up and say hello
but what if she dislikes my voice
my hair
my weight
the smallest insignificant thing, then my attempt shall be wasted.
My self worth a never ending cold, empty well
Go and do man's greatest creation; language
but alas conversation is a dying art form
Those who express their emotions through words sure are strange aren't they?
Maybe it's my culture that is the cause of my anxiety.
I stay up every night to enjoy being alone
with hopes of capturing thoughts such as these
then regret the lack of hours I slept that night
only to repeat the process again
This piece has no flow no direction,
Good
Observe how my mind works
See what I think about day after day
Look at the beginning of a memory, watch it decay
and erode from over analysis
broken down down to pointless open ended conclusions
and unsatisfying endings.