Tweens, Teens, and Beautiful People

Oh no, oh no, oh no. Dropped like a rotten apple core into the acid bath in the pit of my stomach. Thick, red throat and quivering forsaken arms. Chicken legs crossed with a cold wind blowing across bony feet. The nauseous feeling of eating something rancid and empty when my stomach is growling for substance. It’s growling for something.1

Good god, my ears are microphones, recording every minute tid-bit of gossip about love and lust and replaying the juiciest parts again and again, but the liquid sits like filth in my stomach. My eyes are cameras, always rolling, taking in the skin and the beauty and the couples of the day, while still playing the couples of yesterday in a dizzying dance in my skull. My head projects the dancing on the dark canvas of my nighttime ceiling as I lay down to bed. The tweens, teens, and beautiful people twirl and giggle and have pointless situational conversation that just flows and flows and flows so wonderfully. The illness that keeps me up eventually puts me to sleep.2

My heart screams for change. My head is sick with dizzy logic. My stomach swirls with confused distain for something untouchable. My ears ache with so many sweet sounds. My eyes sting with the endless frames lust and lovers. I am a self-imploding sickness thinly disguised as a pessimist. At the top of my greatest years, I’m nothing what I used to be.