Last night that’s what I was thinking, gripping the neck of a bottle in my hand. Around me skaters were flying over my head, everyone seemed to be shouting in my ear, boy you’ve got to carry that weight the Beatles repeatedly chanted. Then suddenly everything exploded pink in a mass destruction hailstorm perfectly disguised as coloured confetti, and lightning flashed literally, thunder shook literally, and now, everything seems like a metaphor.
I used to press my index and middle fingers over my cigarettes so tightly that it would have a permanent depression along the filter. That would be literally. Metaphorically, I could grip at my heart’s control over breathing so tightly that I’d be lightheaded. Or woozy. I wouldn’t know. You can’t speak when there’s a stronghold over your lifeline, you see.
You can’t speak, but you have the thought.
Must I prove things? Whose biography is it I’m writing, whose hand moves mine? Why do people say there’s more to this; I can’t see what they see, at all?
I was raised to it’s up up to you’s rather than your typical guiding light. I acknowledge its advantages and disadvantages. Thank you very much for everything. Now… I’m quite used to taking care of myself and having people not telling me what to do. It’s up to you, they told me, so I stumbled around and here I am. Such is excess, hit-and-miss. There are always two sides of the coin, however. And you always wonder what’s on the other side. But no matter how you were raised, no ones makes you yourself but yourself. It’s never an excuse.
What if ‘within’ were external and everyone was on the outside after all. What if the soul were two kinds the host and the hunted. What if accidents were choices and not chances. What if no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t remember what the words were. What if there were no such thing as difference
My what if’s and my how come’s are what I have right now. Mine and yours, whoever you are. Doesn’t everyone own a handful of those? And if you feel that you don’t, I’m extremely sorry for you. Why must you even come, don’t come near me… why me, when I hurt everything I touch
