Self Deception

2 / A Sky Of Fruit

Tangerine skies rest in my mouth, and I crush them with my teeth - sweet juice gushing and flooding my tastebuds. I see a house on the hill, although some would say it's not a house at all. They tell me I'm crazy, but they're the ones with blueberries for eyes. Sometimes I wonder why they try so hard to bring me out of this state of reality I'm in; this is correct, this is authentic.

At night, I lie awake as the taste fades from my greedy mouth, and I wonder about everything until morning brings me fresh fruit. I wonder what became of me - I was such a happy child. I wonder who picked me, out of everyone in the world, to experience life this way. No one else has my senses, no one else tastes colors from the sky or collects gallons of rainwater from the gutter just to drink it down. No one understands what it's like to live when you already feel as though you've died.

I scrape the baskets for more of everything, for I am greedier than most. The blue of daytime is for sleeping in purple sheets, and nighttime is for storms and mouth sores. I trap myself inside my house so the world doesn't have to see me; they never wanted to anyway. That's why I breath in the nocturne, with the wispy black and gray clouds. The flavor of the dark hours is underneath my skin, behind my eyes and pulsing through my veins.

Once, I believed I could eat the morning, so that night could consume the sky forever. That was before the citrus found me; beautifully orange and waiting to bring shock to my tastebuds. I tried to will away mornings by shutting the curtains and locking all the doors and windows, but it did nothing to change the sky. It remained a sickly pale gray - ugly and suffocating. I spit tangerine seeds into that sky, and it burst into beautiful peach and pink.

Mornings flourished into something I could appreciate, so every day when the sun rises, I collect my fruit from the sky. It comes to me in beautiful baskets, all ripe and colorful. Once my baskets are filled, I hurry inside to peel the glorious fruit. My tastebuds are satisfied by the sour beauty of the citrus invading my mouth.

I spend my days drinking rainwater and eating citrus with the curtains pulled over the windows. Houses don't look like houses anymore, and realness seems to have lost its purpose. Nothing outside of my tiny color-flavored world can get in, and nothing can get out. I'm locked here, trapped inside a house that is the realest thing I'll ever see.

revengeavenue

💙💙 (they fucking killed it goddddd)