Schizophrenic Pop #3: Løvē

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by sidepilots

by sidepilots

The embodiment of the light bubbly feeling that distracts me from my daily activities. Running on an endless supply of energy. He's clumsy and often hurts himself. I wish he would slow down.

Cute blush. Little heart freckles. He wears a backpack because he wanders a lot. Sometimes he disappears for a while leaving me a bit empty. He wears his heart on his sleeve, and his sleeve is his skin. His entire body is fragile, made out of glass. His chest is nearly shattered.

He calls himself Simon.

He's unpredictable. Very LOUD.

His words interrupt my thoughts with his own. They overflow and spill into my emotions.

There are sparks that feel like fireworks.

When he visits, it's not for very long. I've never spent more than a few months with him. I get so lonely I pretend he is here sometimes.

So when he is here, he's clingy.
He likes to cuddle.
He likes piggyback rides.
He likes my attention.
He likes to be controlling.

The first time you meet him, he seems a bit scattered and nervous.

But when he's slowed down and all alone he speaks beautifully and can make you feel blissful. Pure euphoria, providing a numbing happiness we all pine for. Only sunny days. Day after day. Thinking of the one I love makes me feel weak in the knees. Weak never felt so good. So addicting. As it feeds the hole within me I continue to dig as he continues to fill. Until it becomes the softest sandpit to ever lay on. But the one I love is stabbing me with a blindfold on. A sandpit turned quicksand. A hole turned void.

Don't break him. Be gentle. But why would anyone respect me?

Don't abandon us: me and Simon. Give me a chance, give me love. That's all WE WANT. Simon will die soon because of this. It happens every year.

I put another band aide on him. But it's too late.

The sparks are jolts of pain. Right on my sensitive heart.

The emotional fluid pours out. He's angry. That's why my tears sting.

Once again I'm alone with the little demon. He screams making my ears ring. He's afraid of loneliness.

Goes into shock.SeparationAnxiety.

He trashes the rooms in my mind.

I cry to flush out the toxins he put in me. I drink to cool his flaming heart; soon to die out.
~

The firework show is over but he cannot stand the quiet boredom. Desperate for more glitter he attempts to make more homemade explosives. They are volatile. I too am memorized by the glitter, each startling popping sound satisfying the hungry blackhole within me. I try to pull away from it. It s t r e t c h e s me.

He mistakes empty promises for Hope. What a lonely fool I've been.

But I can see a mirage shimmering before my clouded teary eyes. I wipe my tears and I can see clearly. How to save myself and Simon too.