Not Me

I have not been myself lately or rather I have been too much myself lately locked inside my own little world begging for escape. I look around at the people with me who don’t know me at all and slip back into an alternate reality that is more real to me than anything I can touch or hold but is infinitely more twisted that anything thought up on this plane.

In my world if something can think to do it, it has been done in technicolor brilliance that can only be accomplished in the mind. Things so twisted that they can only exist inside someone and they can only feast on the light and love in your soul. And feast they do. I am losing it.

I look at others, listen to them, and realize that no one has it worse or better than me because their mind might be doing it to them too. If I can hide it away from everyone but my readers they can hide it from me. Which sparks the thought, as I look at each person in turn, what horrible things is their mind doing to me as we talk. Are they similar things to what my mind is doing to them. Would they cringe away from me in horror if I told them or would they just smile at me knowingly.


Is that the same hunger or darkness I see behind their eyes? Is it the same blackness that is behind your eyes? I don’t know why you suddenly shift away only that you do. My mind instantly goes to the questions is the darkness showing, radiating off me like some twisted negative lighthouse.  Or is it the blankness, the utter soulless look that is in my eyes. Does it make you think “she’s checked out?” Do you even notice? No one else does…

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Who Am I?

I saw this and realized that no one will ever respond to me like this. It is still a beautiful story. For those who don’t know she is talking about Peter Pan at Disney.



Dancing in the Rain

It is nights like these when thunder is rippling across the sky that I want to go outside and dance naked in the rain. The pounding water creates a beautiful deadly rhythm. I sit inside and long to feel it coursing down my bare skin cool droplets warming as they slide along my flesh. 

Sometimes it just hurts

To my regular readers this will not make sense but it is something that I have to get out. There is more to it than this but as always I find myself trying to explain a feeling to someone who won’t read this. Sometimes I just have to let the crazy spill out onto the page.


You looked at me strangely when I said that I knew already. You were my cat, my beautiful one that I could never hope to touch. I am pathetically grateful that you let me in your life at all even if it was for a short period of time. I see past the front that you present. I already knew that I didn’t deserve to be anywhere near you.

I could watch you move for hours, doing even the simplest of things. I could study you memorizing the movement of muscle underneath skin. I am sad that I thought for a second that I could share your light even though I knew I couldn’t. I might have given you anything even though I knew you would never ask. I knew you could never want me, the strange little girl that was uncomfortable in her own skin. I was sweet and innocent in thinking that you would ever want me.

You never realized that I didn’t want anything from you. I would have been content for you to use me in any way that you wished. I would have taken anything that you felt like giving even if it was just a moment to relieve the boredom. I look at you and don’t understand how you could not know what you are. You just don’t see yourself as I do.

I asked you once what you wanted. It is unfortunate that you said nothing, it wouldn’t bother me as much if you wanted something anything. Yes I know it is pathetic. You were different and you don’t see it. Not that I think you could ever want me. I offered but I don’t think that you realized that I offered everything asking for nothing in return. You discarded me which was all right and okay. You will never know because I can’t tell you, you would scoff and laugh at me. I watched you for so long and every once in a while you let me into your world.

I let you spoil what was me. I let you teach me and when I took to what you were teaching I think I might have scared you. Then when I saw you again so many years later I was surprised that you thought you saw me more than you did. I was surprised that you even wanted anything from me. I would have been content to watch you work or draw or breath. You never realized the entire time I was watching you and happy just to do that. I am fascinated by the way that you move, the ripple of muscles underneath skin. I could watch you for hours.

But you will never know that. I really just want to know you, to be there for you, to be a friend, or to know what you want even if it is nothing. I know this doesn’t make sense and that you will never read it. I don’t think you know what it is like not to want anything from someone except to feel, watch, and protect.

We never talked about what I am and you never knew that I can feel you. Not just when I reach out and brush the warm of your body, feeding off it but all of the mood changes when you are near. Being this close would hurt if I didn’t except who you were and the fact that hurt is what you do so well.

Know that I have never met anyone as beautiful as you. With rare exception I have never been drawn to touch someone as I am you. I know it doesn’t make sense but you quiet the voices in my head. They are calm and peaceful around you. I don’t know what it is about you but you make me react.

I was so young when I first touched you, I knew nothing of what I am. It left an impression a connection I am not sure how. No one has ever left that mark on me so completely. I knew I was never good enough for you just as I knew that my darkness would just spoil your light even if I just wanted to sit and watch you for just a little while. What is said is that you will never read this and I will be mad long before I have the courage to tell you.


The Glass is Definitely….

ImageOptimist – The glass is half full

Pessimist – The glass is half empty

Opportunist – Look there is more room for vodka

Fatalist – Your are not going to throw that glass at me are you

Absolutist – I know there is a glass and some liquid

Accompanist – The glass and the liquid go well together.

Ufologist – That liquid was brought by aliens, they want us to fill the other half of the glass

Numismatist – Let’s play quarters

Nutritionist – That’s half the daily allowance of blue liquid in the glass

Occultist – Half the liquid was sacrificed to raise a demon.

Futurist – I will drink the rest of the water in that glass at a later date

Eristist – I am going to throw that glass at you!

Absurdist – Flip the glass over and the liquid will stay in

Geneticist – I can clone that liquid and fill the glass


I expect sand as my eyes slide open and am surprised when the storm from the night before has not covered me. I wonder if that is how I got buried in the first place oh so long ago. Slowly I sit up and contemplate the bars of my prison, they were alive and moving only yesterday. Dead and cold is somewhat better than the chitinous clicking and scraping of large insects moving around. I run my hand over them feeling the spines and tiny hairs scratch against my skin. Hair embeds itself deep into my flesh instantly causing it to itch underneath my calloused palm. The hair seems to burrow deep twisting and turning worming its way into the muscle where scratching the skin will bring no relief from the writhing. Only an torturous insatiable itch.

Shuddering I try not to think about the endless hours of torture ahead while I dig at my own flesh, tearing it to make a feeling stop, a feeling that might only be a phantom but still feels just as real. I know that later I will scratch it until it bleeds onto the harsh white sand beneath me. In a way I miss the pain of real life but not enough to live it.

Trying to ignore the squirming in my hand I reach up to brush the hair out of my face only then realizing the world looks different. What I first thought was sand sticking to my skin is smooth instead of the grainy rush I came to expect from the tiny shards of glass that make up the sand in this place. It takes me a minute to notice that the skin is too smooth, to cool against my fingertips. My hands slide forward chasing my cheekbones they are there but too smooth too cool and too unmoving. My fingertips caress the smooth surface covering my cheeks tracing slowly back to my ears which amazingly are free of the enclosure. The pads of my fingers brush backward through my hair almost panicking at the lack of buckles or straps.

My heart pounds in my chest as I trace the lines at the edge of my hair. The cool metal blends with my flesh curling into it. The itch is momentarily forgotten as I realize that this might be folded into my skull wrapped up in with flesh and bone. It is only now that I feel the weight of it. My fingers skate back across the cool metal marveling that it is not being warmed by my flesh and body heat only to realize that I have no heat of my own anymore. I have been here too long and it seems that this place is turning me into it. I lean back hard wondering if the mask is metal at all. Maybe it is like the bars of the cage, not metal but alive and slowly taking over.