Friends

Every day I deal with it. Every day I brush it off like it's nothing. Every day I break down more, bit at a time. There's only two humans there and I'm the only one that has a tongue. I talk, I'm told to shut up. I'm spoken to and I'm not allowed to reply. One thing telling me my words don't matter, the other thing abandoning me and following it's lead. The only other one with blood bites their tongue, their thoughts as pure as mine but a poison to themselves if they let loose. They could become as lonely as me... And it'd be my fault. The only five words the things' and mine eyes can agree on.

Outcast.

I smile with the angels that treat me right, but I don't always feel at peace in their grace. How do I compare to them? Will I grow wings too? Will I one day be able to speak their language, share their unimaginable illusions, be joined with them in holy matrimony? I hope. Wishing the light could drown out the shadows, but the light can't see a shadow when the shadow hides behind it.

Hollow, my soul empties while my shell cracks; eyes hold the remainders of my heart.

Can't the Angel see it in my eyes... The brewing storm? I thought they were the ones that made the sun shine bright? Instead they find the light in the blank slates of things. Dancing with them, singing with them, making them feel important; while I jump, I smile, I chear and my cries laugh instinctively as the salt water dries my pale pink skin.

Then the outcasts themselves. The Idiots. They're demons. The best kind. They scurry about with their freedom. Cackling at and worshipping every twisted reality they discover. Pain is a joke, failure is hilarious and depression is a dream come true. They don't care and they never feel the need to. All they see is jokes and clowns, jesters and comedies. Tragedy, cruelty, violence, sadness; they all find it hilarious and they couldn't care less.

Growing too many roots, I stand in centre, the branches extend further away from me. Out of reach. Clutching my palms around the thorny vines, I hang onto any hope that I have left and it hangs me. The thick red juices of life escaping it's cage, finding only cold outside and gasping for air like they're ready to trade back their life for the one already lost. Can't talk. Can't evolve. Can't exist. Can you?