a scream in the night- or dark early morning- "i am not sleeping another night alone." and it cracks my bones through my ears. i am brought back from my grave, i am a zombie with an intention. aren't we all starving now? it seems like things are more clear when i have less to focus on. now, disobeying the natural function of shutting my eyes. now, as the apartment complex lights are mere trinkles on the stairs. nobody moves but the shadows and the dissapointments on the other side of my door. everybody listens when they shouldn't. these aren't empty conversations filled with empty words. this isn't the simple act of eavesdropping on a bus. this isn't just another dialogue with defense mechanism cavities. there's a million things that these words aren't. funny, i couldn't tell you exactly what they are, what they mean, what they have to offer anybody. it's all so transparent but oh so opaque, and i am caught between the fragmented spectrum, between where i can and can't be seen. when you are on your knees with a gun to your head, that's when you finally catch some attention. crave as you might, but you're never taken seriously until there's nothing left but words versus silence. some scream, throw glasses at the wall. some lay down and cry the same old sob story over and over again. some take their thoughts and put them in jars, filled to the brim with formaldehyde. some break down in all these ways, the jars make the shelves finally collapse. i've watched it happen, i've watched bombs explode in my mother's eyes. it frightened me- how could anyone survive the blast? debri thunders down, litters the earth with shame and rage and those godfrosaken lost hopes. the hopes you pin up like ribbons in a young girl's hair, they are so beautiful and so simple, and they stream in the lights when she dances. you are taunted and you are made to believe. even when the girl passes out on the dance floor and the ambulance comes to rush her away, you remain calm. fixated. ambitious. you count to three and lift her onto the stretcher. you keep telling yourself that she will open her eyes, even when the ribbons come undone and begin to strangle her.
i forget whether it's loss or gain, i can't recall whether or not it's a good thing to be electrocuted when you put your own finger in the socket. it is good to wake up. it is a release to make the world stop spinning once in a while. but we are in motion. we are supposed to be rushed. so many of us are forced to grow fast, and we lose touch. the glue that holds our pieces together slowly dissolve and then we are fluid. we let others contain us in any shape they desire. we adapt, and we manifest more hopes. it's like we have a treasure chest, full of them. under our beds/ from behind our ears, from where magicians pull out coins. i may rest. i may sleep most of these nights. but i am still a river. i will always flow until i flood the land again. and maybe someone someday somehow won't run away when they see the warning flashing on their television screen. instead, they will grab their lifevest and dive in, like i always have. they will forget what fear is. they will forget that they had an ego that usually kept them safe and dry. they will feel surprisingly comfortable in my serene waters. they will realize that risk isn't so bad, that belief powers it, make things happen. but sometimes the pressure builds and the dam does break. it is too much. step back. you've gone too far.
it is a circle. emotions can recycle. the same hopes are used all over again, just in different disguises, colors, voices, names. they will try to build the dam again. they will think they have the perfect blueprint. but weakness always resides in something.
we only live and we learn. we only get rich or die trying. we only get twenty-four hours in a day, and we only have the ability to use them to our full advantage if we are alive and awake enough to see them.
we only see and we only feel. we only have ourselves to blame.
© AlyssiaAnderson
Awkward reactions encouraged.