Work Text:
Bumping up and down, the waves came back again repeating it’s former shape as it reflected the same golden yellow from the sun far away whilst it settled down to painting the sky with the same summer evening colours it would have years ago every summer season before. It’s this life I wish was like mine. Repetitve; the same cycle; knowing what was next, showing beauty in every different cycle. Again and again without fail. Life isn’t quite like this. Not at all.
The sky glittered with different tiny, little dots of stars flashing its maginificent, white glow without a thought, without a thought becasue it was perfect. Without a thought because it couldn’t. Long, white, dust-like clouds gathered across the sky, flying across the sky using the wind as it’s fuel. It flew with its magnificently large wings, blocking the shining perfect, glittery white small pearls up in the sky.
I hate this all.
Life and its unpredictability.
I just wanted to get angry, not get angry at you.
It’s not disrepect, it’s getting angry.
I hate you all: you’re a disapointment.
Every single one of you.
I’ll cut you in the face, revealing the pretty pink muscles in your face; gouge out your eyes to reveal the large hollow of your head; carve into your face like I carve stone. I want to change, but there’s something wrong with you too.
I can’t accept you as family.
It’s unfair. So unfair.
You were supposed to be my family, but you don’t act like it.
Don’t worry, like the stars, there’ll be no thought about this as the clouds murk up my mind to make me forget, to start again. So may chances I’ve given you. A chance for us seven-seven-what a lucky number. The perfect number; the normal number; the number who is safe to be around. To manipulate if there wasn’t people to stop me.
We could’ve been the bestest of friends. And you could’ve been someone everybody wanted to be.
But I get angry.
(Not at you).
I’m not sorry, I can’t be sorry.
If I’m sorry, that means it’ll be my fault. My fault alone.
I can’t bare that all.
So, let the stars shine, glimmer and shine. Connect the lines of the constellation, I remember.
But don’t let it last, let the clouds fly its long body and flap it’s large magnificant wings. Cover up the memories inside my mind.
The cloud isn’t forever long (only until I’m ready).
What a long haze.
When am I to get out of my bed and get ready.
To go outside in the large summer land where the grass vibrates with grass hoppers and the wind is warm and suffocating.
It’s so hard to not get angry.
I want to get ready.
Or I won’t. I don’t care.
(Tighten, loosen, tighten, loosen, tighten, loosen, tighten, loosen, tighten, tighten, tighten, tighten, loosen)
Who am I hurting now?
How am I hurting now?
Why am I hurting (them) me now?
They’re not questions (I already know)
Retreating back into my mind, I glaze upon the large white clouds flying slowing, painting the black, blue night into a lovely picture. For the longest time, that was all I could see against my closed eyelids.
All I’ve ever wanted (needed) to feel good.
Control.
I’m in control in my crowded mind.