When you feel pain, and everybody around you starts talking about their pain, do you ever feel like sharing? You’re one amongst many, there are 7.5 billion people. But you’re one in 7.5 billion. Does it amount to nothing at all? You’re special, just like everybody else. But, to who? You’re just a minor note in the mundane cacophony of white noise. A short kink in an upward going graph. Who cares about you? Do you?
You make people up in your head as you go, your head is in the cloud and feet are just shuffling on the wet mossy semi-road. Do you feel that void as your head takes off? A void in the stomach? The same kind you feel when your rollercoaster sets off, except, you don’t know if you’ve put the strap on. Do you feel that?
This just in, I closed my eyes and the ground beneath me vanished for two seconds.
All these things that sound imaginative, poetic and stuff of love songs, actually do happen, and it is scary. Having the ground abandon you is not a good feeling, even if it is for a split second.
Back to what I was saying:
Do you get tired of people saying generic things like, “You should talk more often!” “Go get some fresh air!” “I am here, aren’t I?” “What do you not have going for you, look at the bright side!” Flip them off. Or maybe not, what if they actually do care? But how can you tell?
When you’re behaving like an angry beast every time you’re alone, screaming and shouting, do you look the beast in the eye? Do you see that it is scared? Are all beasts scared, deep down inside? Are they scared of their own thoughts? Does the beast ever look in the mirror? What do they see? Do their eyes get bloodshot from all the tears?
You are dust, blowin’ in the wind with all the other answers, my friend. You are told that you are the stuff stars are made of. So is our motherf$#!*ing planet and you don’t give two s#!ts about it, do you? Your tears are rolled and you scream into the big pile of clothes that rests in your cupboard, you my friend, are a coward. When someone says “Hey, your skin looks really nice these days, what’s your secret?” You almost say, “Thanks, it is all the crying.” You think that is funny. What is so funny?
What is so funny about you sitting on a high horse? What is so funny about being forlorn all the time? What is so funny about having hatred towards living in your own goddamn skin? What is so funny about being able to hide your emotions that goddamn well from the general public? Everybody does that. You are just tearing your relationship apart and victimizing yourself.
So you see, you aren’t that special. You’re not special to you. You are just a fake. More plastic than what the runway models are condemned for, but double the size. You are what everything you don’t believe in, and thus a hypocrite of your own making. 14 billion years have passed without the universe caring, yet you’re the center. You, the browser of internet. You, the crier of sorrows and you, the living embodiment of shame. Of course, you are the center of this vast universe.
Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?
I am ashamed of myself.
i hope nobody i know is reading this.