I’m devastated, weak. I’ve nothing left to offer. I’m just going to curl up and hide.
I’m going to disappear and carry myself into a movie where all things work out and Love conquers all.
This is all a dream right?
Maybe the fairy tale is a genetic or Soul memory of lives lived in another parallel Universe.
I’d like to remember more of the fairy tale.
I want to hold it ever closer, that I could
drink from it like a baby does from its mothers breast.
I want to smell it, touch it, feel it. I want to hug it, smother it
until it becomes me.
I want to know it and know it so deep and full that there is
nothing other than that safety and Truth to blind me.
Maybe I’ll just look into the Sun instead. I would be
blinded, required to rely on something other than what I
see and read.
Wait, maybe I don’t. Maybe its all me.
Of course it is. It’s always me.
Lets just change channels shall we? Fucking A.
Ya. I’ll just change the channel. Fuck this reality.
But can I bring the good parts with me? I can right? It’s my
life, I can do what the fuck I want.
What do I want.
What do I want.
Im sorry but I’m not strong.
I’m weak, I’m breaking. I’ve broken.
I’m falling apart and I don’t know how to put myself back
Ya I know. Its the butterfly thing.
Well fine. Fucking fine. Great.
Let me turn into that beautiful winged insect that is
magical and flutters all around bringing wonder and
upturned eyes to childrens faces.
Just let me be somewhere else.
Today I don’t want to do adult. I. Don’t. Want. To. Do.
And you know what? Im not sorry.
I’ll pick myself up but not yet.
I need to break, to come apart.
To cry and scream and be hysterical and question and
wonder and be afraid and just be a God Damn mess.
And I am.
You wouldn’t know it, cause I wouldn’t show it unless you
know me well.
Not many people know me well.
But don’t worry.
Well yes, worry.
Worry about me dammit!
Be with me and hold me and hold me tight and just let me
Let me empty out and when i’m empty and dry something
will come and fill me up.
Holy God, please come and fill me up.
Maybe I’m too full and thats the problem. Too full of
something not so good.
Maybe there is no problem at all.
Maybe I’m perfect.
Maybe this whole fucking mess is perfect.
I don’t know and I don’t care.
Thats a lie.
I care more than I can handle but I can’t handle it
I’ve got to break cause Im too full. I’m overflowing.
Maybe the glue needed will hold me together better than
Dear God, please let the glue be strong.
Please let the glue be strong.