Monday, December 20, 2010

The Requiem

I need help. I am completely overwhelmed and irrational. The phantom menace has been after me in my day and night dreams. I exceptionally need to run outside of my skin. Time is pulled apart from reality. Help. Help. Help. I can’t find the next breath. I choke on my desperation.

There is an undercurrent of anxiety crashing along through the hardness of my veins. It refuses my independence. Please rescue me out of the skin and defend me from this brain.

Don’t you know,
Don’t you know,
Don’t you know,
That I hurt, I hurt, I hurt.

We are just alike, but no one can know me. Not even me. Things happen to me, not with me. My skin must come undone. There’s only one thing left to do.
I am not ignorant as to the thought the world shares of me. Some declare she’s strong, she’s made it this far, through difficulties before. She’ll do nothing.

I wrestle time to the ground. I design my fate. I decide when and what. And I’ve decided.