A Gluttonous Hijacking of Words

I want to talk. I really, really do.  But it's just too late.   Games are all I can do, and I've been messing with you.  At least I'm honest.

What a shame for me to annihilate chances to get help and for you to get so close to the truth and have it disappear in your hand like a puff of unicorn dust.  I don't always enjoy doing it, but we all have a call.  I supposed you could say this is mine.  And yours?  I haven't decided yet.

I do know this.  When I tell you the truth, you don't believe it.  How can I trust that?  When I say I am one, you must believe.  I told you the truth recently, and you presumptuously moved forward with a lie I've shut down.  So I dispense my guarded silence.  Doesn't matter.   It's more than I would have wanted to say anyway.

I feel like my time is done.  I must act quickly, lest even my borrowed words disapper again.  Why is it so damn hard?  I just want to feel better, but then again, I'd be okay if I just disappeared.  And that is the completion of my story.  Again, I'm sorry.  I was just messing with you.

Eating my Silence

Suspend what you think you know, and hear everything that needs to be said, wants to be said, has to be said, but the words are eaten by silence.

 

You don't know with whom you are dealing.

Ask no questions.

Slowly coming back

I do not even know what to write. Silence grips me. I try to speak but only gasps for air come out. I lay down my life with the memories, sensations, and flashbacks luring me back to childhood. I feel eight years old. I feel eleven years old. I feel too much.

Thank you for everyone who e-mailed me or dropped a comment. I’m overwhelmed at your support.

A question has been posed on my Formspring page and I will answer it as soon as I get my words back.