Chapter 3: Chapter Three

Sometimes I feel like a raving lunatic. Like the words will never stop, they’ll swirl around me cutting off the view of clear cohesive thought and my mind will suffocate without it. It feels like if I told someone I’d end up in a psych ward, it's always been my worst fear. Being a danger to myself and others, for my parents to send me away to a padded room. I’m not so much scared of the place as the idea of being so broken that I hurt someone I love, that they aren't safe around me, no matter how much I love them and don't want to hurt them. It's always been my worst fear. And all the words, it feels like my mind or whatever this thing is that sends these words swirling around me like a tornado it feels like it's dangerous. Like a mental virus. Like it might make me hurt the people I love, not their body’s but their minds, their hearts. I don't want to hurt anyone. When I was a child that was always what made me stop screaming because I was angry and made me start crying and trying to look angry to hide that I was scared. My worst nightmare is hurting the ones I love.

 

Children scream scream scream 

It's all a dream dream dream 

A gunshot 

Blood brought

Tears to every face 

Carving canyons of space

Between us, now mute and deaf

By this sudden awful death

She dies every day 

Growing colder each way

You can see her smiling mask

But all she thinks of is the task

A starving little fish

Make your dandelion wish

For return home and well 

From the seafoam where she dwell

Anchors washing up to shore 

Rendering us addicts in need of more

They speak of gruesome battlefields

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With plague and death the weapons they wield

Corpse hooked to a stream of blood

The truth always comes in a flood 

She lies and lies 

Sever ties oh ties

She returns to ruin of a home

A collapsed cathedral dome 

Sheltering those she had hurt

Given no roots but dirt

A holy man descends on her

Frankincense and gold and murh

A god of love betrayed a heart

For t’was given poison from the start

 

The rhythm of the rhyme is a rambling rant in my mind but they aren't my words. They are traitorous thoughts hidden in a madman’s mess of metaphors. The alliteration comes from it too. It's invading my mind, deeper with every rhyme and oh gods there it goes again. All these words that make metaphors that would be meaningless if you don't know it. Would she know what they mean? Would she care? Will she care? Will I tell her? 

 

When she returns I fall again

It is only a matter of when

 

No matter what I tell her it will all fall when she gets back. She's a magnet and when she comes back she’ll flip the axis of my world again. But at least I might see it coming this time, even if all I can do is wait.

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