Nov 2013
There’s only one tina rage, that’s what they say. But it’s only because one is enough chaos for a million.
It’s hard, I mean its easy. It’s easy to be crazy. All you have to do is do exactly what you want to when you want to where you want to without a single ******* thought at all. It’s easy to just wreck havoc and release all the awful energy building inside you. Its like if you don’t release it, explosion is inevitable. My energy will spiral into itself and gather so tightly it will have the gravitational force of a black hole, pulling all in its orbit into absolute darkness. Any that try and fight the tugging will stretch into spaghetti, bones broken and organs useless. The end of my world would start with my attempt at containment.
But you know what is hard? Accepting that part of your personality is “bad”. That it is toxic and maybe even lethal. When others sense your ego dripping with this dark, goopy essence, they run as fast as they can. no one wants to hurt. No one wants my hurt. No one wants the crazies. No one wants me.
It makes me cry that I have to apologize for who I am, because it is an inconvenience for others. And it hurts so much, my muscles bleed and scream as I try to hold this huge part of who I am in some deep cavern inside myself. As it grows, I’m running out of room. Its squishing into my kidneys, puncturing my lungs with its pointy claws, eating golf-ball size holes in my brain for its dark beady eyes that can now see what I see.
But the rejection I face whenever this demon seeps out of my pores hurts more, so I continue to let it eat through my flesh until I rot into the very ground I continue to damage with the uncontrollable fire that burns in my soul. Nothing hurts me more than the cold, metallic, damp, dark feeling of being alone. I’d rather my heart fever and blister from the heat of my flames than freeze around a heartbeat.
So if having a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, another body to warm my chest that grows ever colder means fighting who I am, so be it. They say no one can be youer than you, but it is possible to be too youer for you? I don’t know of many ways I can successfully seal this destruction inside of me with concrete. It’s bled into almost all of me now, so that the two energies that wage war in my body are now turning into one, a new unit consisting of two ever-fighting yin and yang. Now the only way to stop myself from harming the people around me is to turn all the energy off. I need to go to the very source and power down all emotions. Certain substances do a very good job blocking the synapses that are surging into overdrive. But Ritalin doesn’t know how to pick and choose. But I do. And I choose living like a zombie over living like a martyr.
There’s only one tina rage, and even that is too much. Too much rage for one world to hold.
It’s hard, I mean its easy. It’s easy to be crazy. All you have to do is do exactly what you want to when you want to where you want to without a single ******* thought at all. It’s easy to just wreck havoc and release all the awful energy building inside you. Its like if you don’t release it, explosion is inevitable. My energy will spiral into itself and gather so tightly it will have the gravitational force of a black hole, pulling all in its orbit into absolute darkness. Any that try and fight the tugging will stretch into spaghetti, bones broken and organs useless. The end of my world would start with my attempt at containment.
But you know what is hard? Accepting that part of your personality is “bad”. That it is toxic and maybe even lethal. When others sense your ego dripping with this dark, goopy essence, they run as fast as they can. no one wants to hurt. No one wants my hurt. No one wants the crazies. No one wants me.
It makes me cry that I have to apologize for who I am, because it is an inconvenience for others. And it hurts so much, my muscles bleed and scream as I try to hold this huge part of who I am in some deep cavern inside myself. As it grows, I’m running out of room. Its squishing into my kidneys, puncturing my lungs with its pointy claws, eating golf-ball size holes in my brain for its dark beady eyes that can now see what I see.
But the rejection I face whenever this demon seeps out of my pores hurts more, so I continue to let it eat through my flesh until I rot into the very ground I continue to damage with the uncontrollable fire that burns in my soul. Nothing hurts me more than the cold, metallic, damp, dark feeling of being alone. I’d rather my heart fever and blister from the heat of my flames than freeze around a heartbeat.
So if having a hand to hold, a shoulder to cry on, another body to warm my chest that grows ever colder means fighting who I am, so be it. They say no one can be youer than you, but it is possible to be too youer for you? I don’t know of many ways I can successfully seal this destruction inside of me with concrete. It’s bled into almost all of me now, so that the two energies that wage war in my body are now turning into one, a new unit consisting of two ever-fighting yin and yang. Now the only way to stop myself from harming the people around me is to turn all the energy off. I need to go to the very source and power down all emotions. Certain substances do a very good job blocking the synapses that are surging into overdrive. But Ritalin doesn’t know how to pick and choose. But I do. And I choose living like a zombie over living like a martyr.
There’s only one tina rage, and even that is too much. Too much rage for one world to hold.
