Once Upon A Time, Time Stopped

I h i d e

Sometimes I think that I am not enough, for anyone.
Mostly, I am never enough for myself.
So I filled this empty space within, with an abundance of strangers,
the kind that say "we should totally meet up sometime." We never do.

And yet... I'm grateful for it, you see, I'm bad at Small-Talk; it dates these thoughts and off they go on their honeymoon.
I climb this ladder like a lifeguard at the beach would and, watch as they multiply in numbers.

Sometimes I think that I don't do enough, for anyone.
Mostly, I have not done enough for myself.
I sit here, and watch, never interfering, how they drain their lives out of each other.
The soul leaves its' body like string candy being pulled apart,
beginning from your toes to your knees,
from your toes to your knees, shoulders and finally your head.
Peeling off like one of those 'well done' stickers.

The whites of their eyes like a hard boiled egg, peeled,
and sometimes my thoughts tell me that I am afraid of everyone and then I am. Afraid.
Mostly, I am afraid for and of myself.
So I closed my eyes and let this continue for years and years.
Now I pretend it doesn't bother me; If I repeat "Actually, you know what? I'm fine" I will eventually be okay.
Like the adult I should already be, the kind that wears an ironed suit and has a desk job at 'The Real World', I'll shoulder all my burdens like I ought to do, right?

Sometimes I think, and I wish, that I could just be less of myself.
Wouldn't it be easier?
Sometimes my thoughts circle back like a Bumerang, round and around,
around and around again,
again and again they circle back to me.
So I— I let them.
I sit here and I watch these champagne walls churn, twist and turn into a putrid mould of myself.

They don't know what I look like, what I really look like and yet, I'm all over.
Hung, drawn and quartered above too many dinning tables,
running on seemingly, endlessly above way too many pews.
But that's not me, and I think you know it isn't.
It makes it easier for you doesn't it? To believe only when you have something to bend your knees for in front of you.
Why couldn't you find me otherwise?
Why can't you see me for myself?

Sometimes I think that I could find love for anyone.
Mostly, I think that I could find love for myself. So I treat myself to books, acrylics and the scent that accompanies both, it lingers, always.

And often, I think about how to start time back up, for no one besides myself.
The store of the clock keeps ticking and the Organ keeps playing it's somber tune.
They have, for a long time now, rung me out.
So I sit and watch, much like like a lifeguard would except when something goes off key, I let it.
I let them all drown in seven.

And sometimes I hide.