I let it overwhelm me. I. Alone. I was confronted with myself. We stared at each other with no expression. Each hoping that a word would slip to break the silence. Pain pulsed throughout me. Its rigid hand squeezing my body to release every last drop of creative thought. There was this craving of human contact. I was on an island with myself. I was at the beginning. I didn't know how to make a fire, a raft, or catch a fish. I decided to go insane for a random fit.
"She looks like the real thing
She tastes like the real thing
My fake plastic love
But I can't help the feeling
I could blow through the ceiling
If I just turn and run
It wears her out, it wears her out
It wears her out, it wears her out" "Fake Plastic Trees" by Radiohead playing over and over in my mind to remind myself that I'm alive.
It was then I had a fireworks show in my cerebellum. One after another, mind shattering thoughts. Thoughts never had by anyone else at that moment.
"People need God to stay ignorant. They need their relationship with Him to have someone to talk to, someone to pray to, and hope that they are not alone. Humans would never survive if they had self awareness, and also the awareness of being only self, alone." Of course there was criticism. "Why are you letting lack of entertainment ruin you? You have never seen this, for you are too intelligent to have it happen. I guess that is incorrect. Intelligence is never a firewall for what is to be experienced." This is about the time the phone rings. It was like a lost needle(fix) found in the corner of a room for a heroin addict going through toxic withdrawl. I answer it. No one. Right then, on my island, I see a plane flying over me. It never lands.
Helpless. The decline in the wave of life. Another synapse fires. "These spurts, phases, emotions, thoughts, are all a part of that one section in time, that one moment, and it can either make or break me. If I were not a stronger person, I would be in a bathtub or a park, and I would have silence." I have my second chance. She walks into the appartment. I close the door. Irony. I then decide she needed to know. I tell her about my breakdown with dried salt caked in the corners of my eyes. My face hot and red. She thought I was sleeping. Everything calmed in me at that second. My breakdown was the past. I was in the dip of the next wave. It's on, "incline only" for right now.
Papercut | Molding | The List | Breaking Linguistics | Mirror| Delusion Fade
Email | Your Mark | Bleed | Your Mother | Thumbnail | Feast | Designer