do you recall when the moon used to talk to the stars, when the sun fell over the sky and day bloomed like blood from a fresh cut? can you say you feel the same as you do a year ago today? because somehow, somewhere i know i’m still the same and destined for hell and not transcendental paradise like everyone else. (momma told me to dare to be different, is this different enough). sometimes i feel my joints aching and my braining numbing to there ache. oh, do i really need a plethora of green and white pills to keep me floating? i haven’t been really happy in months. the only ‘happy’ i feel is the cotton-candy hyperactivity that bubbles up inside me when i’m anxious (which is most of the time). i shake hands with heat and hellfire just to stay warm and attach myself to commonalities to say that i’m okay when really i’m just tethered to the past, unmoving… as you all float, float away. if i’m doomed to play the role of psychiatric inmate in a white dress tell me now so i can enroll in the hospitalized medication line (i hear long timers get a discount). or am i doomed to be ophelia, death shrouded in mystery… suicide, accident - or murder. my skin disappoints me because it is too neat: no faded scars to trace my history on, no marks on the outside to trace my lineage. and as i start to whiter and fade from lives once touched i am cut, i am ash and bone. i am no girl, but a scared woodland creature, lost and afraid. they no longer need me and i am forever lost in time and place.
