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So this is what it feels like to be a
Tall and thin
I observe pointlessly.
I am needed to an extent, but it seems
My insides don’t
Match up with my outsides.
I don’t trust my shadow
But I prefer it.
How it looks so thin -
It took a while to
Pile all those intricate thoughts -
I was in denial.
I ought to be an expert by now
But all I do is hurt. You see,
Trust is only one letter away from the truest of things.
It brings all aspects of our world together -
One language we all know how to express in various ways.
The wind blows against my harsh
Grey face and
Silent screams -
Beams holding up a house that may look safe;
It seems the seam has parted, or at least is beginning to.
To fall from top to bottom, not forgetting any single step -
You feel each bounce
Not an ounce of dignity left, it seems the seam was
Always so damn faulty.
You dread to think what your head decides next,
You sink -
Barely able to re open your supposed blink.
What’s kept you fed for so long?
Beginning to tie up the loose thread But instead you decide against it.
They blame you and you agree,
What is in your mind right now,
Is way stronger than these cemented beams, and will always be too damn
Difficult to explain.
am I sick enough yet?
have i twisted these simple syllables enough yet
to match the complexity of my inner mind?
will my outer appearance ever reach up to
whatever is bubbling up on the
I am trapped
my pulse attempts to escape
through each cold
because there’s nothing wrong with me
really is there?
to think that this time last year
we were here
sat around this table
i would eat my dinner no tears would fall
i would be able to pass fears coherently
easy but now it seems to me
that bigger fish were frying
deep below what was on my plate
trying to make its way to the surface
but ok lets be honest
none of us saw it coming
and fumbling around with my thumbs
head to the ground
It’s just a number.
It means everything.
Leave me alone.
You are going to die in the end anyway.
I’d rather be smaller.
It’s not that simple.
It’s just a number.
No, it’s not.
Nobody thinks it’s important.
A puppet -
Dragged through its house, it is
Alive yet, half not.
Responding automatically to each drifted voice, it is
An opposite motorway.
Alive at night and constant
When most are sound asleep.
Information bleeding its way into
Feeding whatever it may find
with the answer you want to hear.
A shiny robot
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