So Many Notions, Potions, And Stories...

How do I explain it all? The illness, the trauma, my losing the genetic lottery.

I'm willing to expose myself this time. Willing to lay bare and under scrutiny. But I fear that once everything is stripped away I'll be more trouble than I'm worth. Not a sound investment.

Are your eyes grey or blue? I still haven't figured it out.

My heart palpates in my chest and I cover it as a cough. My tremors come and I shrug them off. I turn in ways to hide the scars of what was done to me, all screaming and tearing and blood.

Who could want such a thing?

It Sucked Me Dry

I had so many words and images knocking around in my head. I was filled with inspiration and with one look out the window into the cold grey rain...My fingers froze over the keyboard. My fingers stuttered.

It was washed out of me like a gum wrapper floating towards a gutter.

How The Mighty Crumble.

I see you. I see though the masks you have up, the veils you have drawn. You think you are sly and subtle, but you are like a rough brick smashing though the emotions of others. Selfishness. I see it in so many, but am shocked to see it in you. You would be shocked as well, but cannot shake the binding of resentment and jadedness. Why can't you see a sparkle, instead of a blemish? Or rather, why wont you?

At least this time I won't be the one responsible for the fallout.

Nobody Knows Me At All...

I was asked so often as a child what I wanted to be when I grew up. I would always bare my teeth in a fake stretched smile and give the answer all adults like from a small girl child. "I want to be a horse trainer! I want to be a doctor. I want to save people like fireman do!"

But I was lying through my teeth. I want to be nothing to most. I want to be something to some. And I want to be everything to one.

Because in the end, it's really all that matters. I've never been driven by career. I am completely unambitious. As long as I have my books and instruments I'll twirl alone on my slick bedroom floor.

It has always been love. My ceaseless obsession with it. It's complexities, how it's the most powerful force driving humanity; this ultimate evolutionary fail-safe.

Nobody wants the sick girl. I see it in their eyes...the wondering. When will it happen again? For it will. It's a factual and eventual reality. How could I ever ask someone to stand by me through it, to share the pain?

I couldn't ever.

I am not afforded the luxury of a different path.

Pressed by These Souls

I crave solitude, or some semblance of it. I hear and feel the breathing in other rooms. Tapping sounds creep into me, a cough, a laugh, a sigh.

I wish I could go to an ice hotel.