maybe if i unsend the messages they wont be true or maybe if i stay quiet you wont hear what i said or maybe, just maybe, if i sleep forever the pounding in my head (like a jackhammer that can never be turned off) will go away.
if the piano can't distract me, what will? the resounding notes, the flourishes and crescendos dipping in and out of my brain like a pen in ink. a pen in ink. i should be writing this with a pen in ink.
the pounding. it hasn't stopped. it's relentless and vile and selfish because it knows i hate it. still, it won't stop. am i selfish? is that why? am i conceited and pretentious and too emotional and maybe that's why i feel like rocks are being thrown at me from inside my skull, like a taunt or a reminder.
it went away. for a few moments. when i got up and dragged my body with what little i have, scraping the lethargy out of my eyes with my dried, bitten nails. maybe the colour of them, my nails that is, will brighten my day.
it didn't.
i sat down and it came back, tenfold. it came back stronger like the second wave of an earthquake or like a reverse ripple that grows, not shrinks. it came back and brought with it a friend. one that weights a ton and drags my soul down with it.
it drags and drags and i may drown at this point but maybe i want to let it. maybe i want to drown and drown and not stop it until the only thing that remains are a few bubbles in an ocean so big, no one will see.
but maybe if you look close enough. you'll see the brown of my hair and brown of my eyes and the brown of my skin. maybe you'll see the red of my blood and the blue of my despair and the grey of my apathy.
maybe you'll see me but let's be honest, you won't see nothing.
because who wants to see brown and brown and brown when you can see white and white and white. because brown is dirt, tainted and cruel, but white is pure and dainty and cute or whatever.
i'm going off topic. the pounding, i haven't forgotten about it. how could i? it hasn't left me and neither has that weight in my soul nor the brown in my everywhere.
they can't leave me cause they are me and i am me and you are you and that's the way it's meant to be. you can't change what is but you can change what will be.
YOU ARE READING
sleeping lotus
Randomi miss writing, so here is some writing. i'm older and not wiser but the words haven't left me (yet). so here is some writing.
