I woke up I thought
I woke up I thought it was summer
The foil veiling my window making me think the sun's brighter.
What a ******!
A few hours later I go downstairs in the kitchen, fooled that to be rid of anxienty all I have to do is work harder.
And I did up until my mother,
Made my shoulders shudder
Only if the silence lasted a little longer.
It didn't so I tell her about a friend that's been way too friendly and how I have other priorities.
A girl maybe, I told her, now, she's about to ruin it.
She breathes in: so heavy, one hand next to the stove and one by her hip she tells me.
"stop and take a look at yourself"
Talks to me about the risk of showing myself to such a girl,
Asks if I'd want the aftermath on my conscience forever.
"Ignore her" , she whispers, "let's talk about you!"
"You find people you think are interesting,then dissect them to their last molecule, get what you need, then leave them - desolated, confused, searching for anyone to replace you."
She said I damage them so good they'll never not see me in the people they're searching," no-one will ever be you again"
She backtracks-"don't target this girl, you know what you do, don't be selfish and give her hollow promises."
Cruel of me to want to feel something, cruel of me to want to nurture my loveless mind after years of starving.
Not my right she says, to waste people's time, "you're killing".
I'm shaking but I'm loving it she tells me exactly what I've been dreaming!
That I'm a sociopath, the most attractive sin.
She scoffs and says she'll try to be to my understanding, and slips into some analogy
" unlike others nowadays - pretty cover books with nothing inside, you're a hybrid, you're a blank cover-- let others color it, make them think they have a choice and validity before they start reading."
Accaparating, dense, manipulator, heart-eating.
I hope she's proud of me
I hope my paternal lack of empathy is showing
I hope it's obvious that my talents are natural, hereditary
There are very few instances when it's not them I'm blaming.
But I halt to a stop and ponder what is it that I'm craving,
Because whatever it is, I always aquire then never use it.
My mother sings about my graciously selfish bendings.
I thought the impression of the sun glowing in the final moments of November was a sign for better,
A sign that I will no longer
Live in phases, forget myself along the linings, writhe away like warmth amongst the wind.
So many words have been said, I no longer know if it is me that is living.