"alking through the halls today, from my self-concept I canot stray"

I know my heart, I know my soul but my face is so unknown
No one knows my real desire and my self-esteem is drowning in fire
I turn my head and close my eyes and I take off this disguise
With no sight I can see and pretend that I could be anyone,
Anyone but myself

Walking through the halls today, from my self-concept I canot stray
Lest I see my true self, avoiding the eyes of everyone else
Just so I'll hold together, will I be like this forever?
When I fall asleep at night, I see a shining light and I'm anyone,
Anyone but myself

In the morror I see myself: the one hidden from everyone else
And then I see my physical face, the one I wish I could erase
But I won't admit defeat, for maybe someday I'll get my release
Every day, every hour I've lost my power, but in my mind, I'm anyone
Anyone but myself

Waiting anxiously inside, worrying about what I hide
The words exist only on paper, my plan for what I'll do later
Ticks of the clock break my heart, my impatient heart tears itself apart
But, just for now, I'll have to slow down because I'm not anyone
Anyone but myslelf

"lt that is boiling over the edges of my self-concept."

Cry me a river.
Douse me in the irony of conflict.
I'm just a rock on the edge of it,
sitting patiently for your sigh.
We both sit idly by, tensed for the precious birth of words in silence. Trust the ever-living body of guilt that is boiling over the edges of my self-concept.
Don't speak to me as if I'm some dignitary for justice, but simply as if I might irk out some monochrome of truth whilst I sip my coffee in exasperation.
Irritation is also intoxication might I remind,
so I'm fumbling and tripping over my own flawed reasoning.
I got to this point somehow,
so let us examine it rationally and see why I drowned in the liquor of my own rhetoric.
Or, we can sit tentatively vacant waiting for some resolution to spring from the ether that is the growing chasm between us.

creative commons
"precarious self-concept, hunger for sorrow"

Wake up to the morning,  cradle the sorrow: nurture your own.
Light cigarette,
reminisce lost love: feed it with visions.
Drag feet, numb against the ground --
to the car,
snow piles outside, project suffering onto the world,
attend to the ache,  recycle fragments of memory, of psyche.
precarious self-concept, hunger for sorrow

Witness the charade, colleagues dancing to an unworded ordinance.
Forego friends, family
Cradle the despair
Visions of loss into the night,
Wake and light cigarette...

"s and feedback of me rather than my own self-concept,"

I...am a robot, my buttons pressed by your thoughts and feedback of me rather than my own self-concept,
My many gigabytes made up of comments from years ago:
"You'll never be one of us..."
"Intimidating freak...",
Only...unlike other robots, I have a mind of my own,
Instead of merely beeping out the words my creators have programmed me to in mechanical monotone, I say things completely opposite in nature with a variation of rise and falls in all the appropriate places- just like a normal person might,
Heck, I do it even better sometimes,
All the better...
...so they wouldn't suspect a thing when the time comes for me to literally throw off my (human) skin, exposing my true hard, steel body underneath, soon to be
...covered in
BLOOD, bitches

I know this is really dark and all but keep in mind that I'm writing this from a "yangire's" perspective (google that if you don't know what it means. It's the Japanese term for a certain type of personality type- derived from manga/anime)

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