Weaving Lie for Fickle Minds

I've missed the last three days of school due to illness. Splatters of blood on my paper white skin, paint a picture on an overly dry canvas. It hurts to breathe. It hurts to think. It hurts to swallow. And half the time it hurts to move. And it's cold... so damn cold.1

A friend of my once told me that cold merely equaled the absence of work. I argued that the cold was darkness. The cold was bad. The cold hurts, pierces straight to my heart... I wonder if all this is some metaphor. Everything.2

Ever since I stopped going down my path of destruction I've been bombarded by pain. As soon as I opened up to the nice things, all the bad shit flew my way too and I no longer have walls to keep myself protected. I dethroned the wicked sorceress in order to take my rightful place as queen. But I am sickly from years of hiding in my tower and I'm not quite ready for what the world has to offer.3

I sleep because it doesn't hurt. The fantasy is there and I can pretend that everything is alright and that life isn't tearing me apart. I can pretend that people care. I can pretend whatever I want. The world is mine to conquer. But like all other good things, dreams come to an end. Reality seeps in. The vibrant colors as washed away and the dullness of monotony settles.4

Why am I still trying to hide?5

Maybe I really am a sycophant. Groveling piece of shit. I'm not a leader... I do not create ideas. Ignore the whispers. All I did was stand up for who I am... I am not the one at fault here. Who am I? Maybe I don't even... maybe I don't want to. I'm still afraid. Help? Help?6

Useless cries... rhetoric questions that no one will answer. Contradiction. You'll find it's more difficult then you first thought. You're right.. I write so I don't have to hold it in. I'm tired of letting my emotions get the better of me. I'm tired of crying because it makes me feel. Tired of talking when no one hears. Tired of shouting when it's ignored. Tired of not having anyone to turn to.7

He's right... I'm searching for answers in all the wrong places, but they've proved to be reliable in the past. So what's going on? Why am I spinning out of control? Why am I loosing sense of what is and is not? fading colors. Bleak gray.8

Black and white.9

Colorblind.10

I'm tired of scrambling around to find the good things. I'm sick of trying. Tired of lying. Sick of watching the masquerade that plays around me. Who's real and who's not? Tick, tock, I'm running out of time. Out of energy. Out of will.11

I'm burning to the ground. Falling as the sun crisps my wings. (butterfly effect). The blood is staining my hands. Acidic. We all fall down.12

I long for the innocence of a child. The naivety. The imagination that could create worlds without having to sleep. I need someone to light my candle. Replace the wick. I'm going to fast. Trapped in a box with no sound. See the darkness seeping through my eyes?13

Karma... the ocean is crashing over my head. i'm drowning. FIRE! FIRE!. I can't breathe. It's closing in. Isn't anyone there?14

Or is this just another story?