Lately, I've been heading for a breakdown.
The world has got me dizzy again.
I'm spinning. Round and round;
up and down.
Moving so fast.
But I am going nowhere.
I am exhausted. Utterly, and completely exhausted.
And everything inside of me seems to be dying, breaking off piece by piece.
Leaving gaps where the memories once lay.
Spaces that need to be filled.
But the chains on my soul twist and knot with each tug and pull.
They cling like a symbol; persisting any movement from my frail body.
Another try for freedom.
But I do not have the strength in me to pull anymore.
And so I fall;
Spinning, twirling, falling deeper and deeper into the sea drift of confusion.
Locked in the bathroom stall;
cold tile beneath my knees, I lean my tear-stained cheek against the black and white squares.
Perhaps, they will not make me get up this time.
Maybe I could stay like this forever...
Never leaving, never moving forward.
Morphing myself into the tiny bits of sand between the cracks.
Fading away into nothing. Devoid of feeling and life and love.
Because none of it is real.
We all have been lied to.
But still we chain ourselves into these cages of memories and dreams. Weaving our lives within the stitching. Polaroids, gloves, coats, suitcases. Pianos, guitars, chocolate milk. Hair dye, toothpaste, picture frames, diaries, books. Hotels & cigarettes. Shoes, buttons, letters. Songs, & kisses, & laughter. Smiles & tears, & happiness.
Pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, pain, pain.
And when finally it leaves us, when our hearts are broken & we have nothing left; we put it all away, sealing it deep inside a cardboard box somewhere. Labeling "Fragile" on top, hiding it with all the dust and cobwebs that form inside the corners.
And we don't look at it, because it only reminds us that it was real.
That it was ours.
Just for a little while, at least.
And in time; we forget.
Turning--molding our lives into different colors and shapes.
Adding polkadots, and stars, and stripes, and sometimes even hearts.
Blue, green, red, yellow.
Creating life and energy into the painting.
Customizing it, making it our own.
Rearranging all that was lost. All that was broken.
Until we do not recognize any of it; until we do not remember.
Because remembering is the part that hurts the most.
The part that haunts us.
The remembering is our only reminder of what isn't anymore.