it's dark outside,
and even when I let my eyes cross and my vision go blurry,
the clock still reads 10:51pm
in it's intrusive orange lights.
I can't see my fingers as they dance in front of my face
because the lights are off,
but I imagine they're there anyway.
the skin that I imagine is like a toasted marshmallow,
but skin can be so many colors,
like red and blue and brown and white and purple,
my favorite.
I think there's a parasite living in my heart, because nothing is ever enough.
I'm feeding something that is not a part of me, so I'm still hungry.
there's someone in my mind.
there's someone in my bed, too, but it's just me.
I forget who I am, sometimes. it's fun to try and remember.
sometimes I forget that my clock is three minutes slow.
there's a book on my desk, and there's lots of people inside.
none of them are really here, though.
They'd only leave, if they were.
it's better if they don't have the choice.
sometimes it seems like my choices have been made for me. most of the time, I do not agree with the jury.
I can hear the jingle of my dog's collar as he roams the house,
looking for the next lucky patch of carpet to fall asleep on at 10:54pm.
he sleeps all day, but he never has enough. just like me.
I'd give anything to be like him.
I like to imagine a painting,
inside my head.
from afar, it's beautiful, something that inspires and awes and shakes.
but up close, it's ugly, far too detailed and much too harsh.
I am a forgotten detail of an overdone painting.
I am the thing that pushed it over the edge and made people think that it was too much.
there's a picture on my wall that is yellow.
the designs on my sheets are dark green.
I'm dying,
alone in my bed at 10:57pm,
with the colors in my head,
because I can't see them.
all the lights are off.
@
