It was a prison of my own unconscious design. It's not like I wanted to create my own personal hell but, how can I explain it. I know for a fact that the world – even my own world – will never revolve around me or my insignificant ideas. Yet, I must feel this guilt and pain and frustration and sorrow because it has to be my fault. If I would have tried harder to be more perfect or perhaps if I had kept my mask on so no one would worry, maybe if I did not talk then maybe this crushing weight of despair would not be cracking and splintering my already thinly veiled shield made of the little wisps of hope I have left to protect my already caving, tainted heart.
It's funny to me really. I could hear the sound of it. Like someone making popcorn but decided to add in Pringles, toothpicks, and bloody splinters. Then decided to use the oldest microwave they could find and heat it on high. It being the color of rust and decided to take the rest of eternity (or at least my life) to finish burning . . . I mean cooking. Doesn't that make you want to say "Mmmmm?"
Now some may say "There's no way you could know what that sounds like."
I would say "You clearly have never been bored in your life." Or
"That's amazing! Someone else has the same pair of ears I have!"
Of course the topic if I actually attempted this new popcorn recipe is naturally up for discussion, but that doesn't mean I may give you an answer. Well, perhaps a sarcastic one.
