literature

scrutiny

Deviation Actions

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Literature Text

What's wrong with me.

there's a shouting match going off in your head
with flashlights and shadow puppets resting on each shoulder
propounding scripted lines from their opposing sides
the image of who you are embedded in the picture of who you see
both gnashing at each other with jagged teeth, cavities

there's a sunken girl, naked in the corner
with her hand resting on her chest so
she may feel her heartbeat and know she is alive
a dead stare that tells you otherwise
in daylight hours she hides behind a cardboard cutout
strength written in red so no one will
toss water on her or crumple her into a folded bundle

there's a falling sensation, an unraveling sensation
like each thread tearing one by one
an addiction where we reach into our torso
rip out the stuffing and caress it with our fingertips
a slight longing to ravage ourselves so
we may discover why we war within
the two conflicting ideals of what is and what will be

and indifference, apathy, disinterest
all like a retention pond drying up in quiet winters
only to overflow from the summer thunderstorms
leaving you to drown and scramble for
a surface you cannot find
your body screams for oxygen as you toss in loops
before finally succumbing to the forces that be
you said you didn't want to be this way
you said you wouldn't cry

to waste tears on what doesn't matter
the passers-by mock and jeer like cowards
as they pose you questions that spew one answer
and a dozen more spiraling notions
they drag you to the top of the cliff
to convince you the fears have been conquered
only to watch as you scream and faint
at the sight of such a massive height
they tell you you're wrong and you believe them
they tell you you're senseless and you believe them

and you wonder:
What's wrong with me.
Because I'm feeling conflicted and hopelessly confused right now.
© 2010 - 2024 brokenwiing
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