nonsensical ramblings sometimes aren't enough.

this prose is probably worth about as much as the paper it's written on, and yet I can't stem the flow of all the metaphors and imagery that tell the story of all the ways I'm broken inside, why I find respiration superfluous and why I always had a love for complex words;



[maybe it was because they reminded me of myself.]






and forever and ever and a thousand eternities and all the rest of the cliche lines, I'm going to be searching for a reason to keep smiling to strangers on a train, because making someone's day just doesn't seem like enough anymore.

sure,
that smile gives them a moment of contentment.
and then what?


they return home from their nine-to-five lives
to a broken home and someone who doesn't
love them the way they did when they took those ridiculous vows,
with four kids who just want to go to bed
for one night in their lives
to anything but the symphony of screaming.






I grew up the sort of kid who questioned anything and everything;
I never really believed in anything that wasn't tangible, anything I couldn't touch, like God, or hope.
I believed in the chalk on the pavement, and even then, all I learned was that things will wash away eventually and no one will even know that at some point, seven little girls laughed and played at that very spot until their mummies called them in for supper.

that memory will melt,
just like every other,
and when the world ends,




not even we would take any notice.







because yes, at some point I wore dresses and ribbons in my hair and went to sleep wishing that the next day I'd wake up as beautiful as all the others

[but silly wishes like that never seem to come true.]


how did the picture of perpetual innocence
twist so much?




where did this misanthropic, cynical, bitter person come from?
when did escaping turn into drinking until I couldn't feel my fingertips?
when did fun turn into carving patterns on my thighs until it hurt to walk?
when did the coplexity of loving

turn into the simplicity of hate?

















when will I be able to breathe like a normal person again?