Resentment
Another morning came. The sun filtered in through the satin grey curtains of his small bedroom window. Stretching and yawning, he climbed out of his loft bed and opened up the curtains, letting the sunlight envelop him. For the millionth time, his brain reminded him how much he hated this. The gleaming cars neatly parked, the people trudging to work, the depthless, cloudless sky being the ugliest blue he had ever seen, the characterless, bland apartment buildings designed to cram as many humans into as small a space as possible, with their squealing, vapid children. It was a bright sunny day in a typical corner of suburbia. No one seemed too bother by it, except him. And, boy, was he aware of this.
He felt his jaw set and his teeth grind as he balled up his fists at hides until his knuckles were white and straining against his wheatish skin. He could feel a deep, throaty shout building up inside of him, a shout he would never be able to dispel or his mother would wake up and come after him. His stupid, stupid mother. No, there was really nothing he could do as the resentment inside him grew larger and larger and he could feel it pressing out in his torso. It wanted out. He wished he could claw at himself, tear up his flesh and let whatever it was ooze out onto the tiled floor, away from him, down the drain into whatever it wished to infect next. Sadly, these were only fantasies that he liked to entertain now and then. He was not some schizophrenic fuck. He was not delusional. There was a clear distinction, for him, between fantasy and reality. Every single day, as he clambered out of bed, he waited for this line to blur, to let the things that were inside his mind out into the world so they they could be with him and fill up the empty spaces. Anything but emptiness. Even monsters would do.
Brain games.
Panic. Sly little word.
Fire alarm? Earthquake? Lost credit card?
For you.
For me, reality.
Classroom, squinting eyes, mocking.
Happy people, lump in throat, dread.
Eye contact, flush, blush, rush away before they... before what?
Corridor jammed, confidence oozing, my eyes sting.
Don't notice me, don't notice me, don't notice.
Please.
Color-glazed, groping smiles, reaching.
Bags casual, slung, careless.
They're all laughing. Laughing at you.
They hate you.
You're boring.
Pa-thetic!
Useless, Scum.
Here goes the voice in my head. At it again.
Controlled breathing in an effort to recall comforting tutorial.
"Panic attacks: what they are and what to do when you're.... "
Controlled breathing. Shallow. Swallow.
Its not working.
Palpitations present themselves, hands hurt, thing in my throat distends exponentially.
Breathe, breath, breathe.
Its working.
It worked.
Do I thank my brain for sparing me?
It's just an evolutionary trait. Its just the good ol' fight or flight response.
Not when people thing you're a freak.
Not when you have no friend.
Not when you jump with excitement at the arrival of a single text in months.
Not when cry in your dream and wake up still crying.
No.
Dear brain, please.
No more.
You and Me.
My joy is not the same
As your joy
And though
You are just like me
Yet we are not the same
My friend.
Won't it be great
If you would know
That
My pain is not the same
As your pain
And though
We are quite alike
We are still different
My friend.
Won't it be nice
If you could realize
That
My anger is not the same
As your anger
And though we like
Walking by the sea
And holding hands
And smelling flowers
Together
And though
I love you
And you me
And we are one
We are still
Two alone.
Though we are
Entwined
You are not me
Just as
I am not you
My friend.
Will you greet me as I go?
Will you greet me as I go?
I am feather-bound, feather-light
My own shadow escapes me
I am death-bound, death-night
My head-rest is a moonlit dream
I am diamond-vest, diamond-chest
My outlook inscrutable, two-fold
Billboards send down shivers
People are the death of me
I am mind-fogged, mind-clogged
My very presence irks me
I am dead-hold, dead-live,
Double-faced, double-traced
My esteem a rocky drive
Will you greet me as I go?
This.
Is this it?
Out the window,
Into the night,
Down the drain,
Through the shadows,
Into ever.
Across the sky,
Underneath the echoes,
Shrouded in the oceans,
Beneath the lover's disguise,
In the sacred pages of an ancient text,
Through an act of kindness,
Within an infected heart,
In lament,
In the throes of the purest passion,
With the passage of time eternal,
And the abandonment of youth,
From the final 'goodbye'
To the fist 'hello',
To the tired face in the broken mirror,
I ask:
Is this it?