The stale mid-air touches my shaken skin
as I lead with my stride with a confident mask
making it believable.
Hallways are not only dealing
but dripping in variance and no fucks to give.
faces painted in makeup,
cleaned up sorrowing effort,
and decomposing comfort.
Perfumes and colognes collide as I lose more, and more of the feeling of solitude.
I chase that feeling when aim in here, Solitude
and the tune of it.
Music vibrations that make me one in my mind
clearing my notions of waiting to leave.
To go where my skin isn't shaken
yet more comforted and silky warm,
The cold pillow charging my physical body and mind all at once,
Cuddling a stuffed animal of the softest piece of material
making it springy enough to be a cloud.
A blanket hugging the very existence, of wanting to be someone I trust.
I have no idea what to do...
But walk through the next icy air or pure warm doorway
waiting for that booming headache to start.
I ask many times in my head... Is
It
Only
Me? that thinks this way?
