Shut Up
To save myself from me
Memories fall down my lips, down an ear that's connected to the harsh ground and hurts without the pain making the cartilage move to a less-damaging position.
The world moans and the ear has already been intoxicated on it and it resists to any of my attempts to pry it free. The skin has merged with the rasping soil...
Memories drip from my nose and I'm bleeding out.
My vision is blear with the weakness that tortures a weak soul...and yet I can see clearly how my precious existence, recorded in whatever space was left after the saturation with self-hate, disappears into the ground, into the red soil that yearns it.
And the moan of a planet I don't fit on intensifies with each of my memories it receives .
I extend my palm and capture a drop of my existence;my throat releases the cry that has been torturing the tissue, bubbling like a drop of water in a desert, and my eyes shed their only protective sheet of tears, aware that the lacrimal glands will refuse to create another, knowing that my soul wastes their creations on something they are not fortified to resist to.
The drop of memory breaks in hundreds of tiny drops and falls between my digits, again being absorbed by the soil.
And though I try, I can't remember.
And the famished souls, every-present and studying, chant a malicious 'New blood,new tears, new one to feed us fears'.
And my cry revs up like an engine and my fingers extend to dig in the soil, trying terrified to pull with them a dead body.
I don't belong here!
And I rip my ear free from the soul-eating soil and my vision is bleary with tears and I see only red.
The color that Emma once despised now almost makes me puke.
It's too much red and not even a gleam of another color to give my soul some peace.
...And that's the only bit of memory that my brain has not lost. The unimportant fact that Emma doesn't like red.
A glimmer of white flashes across the sky and my arm extends to grab it, but it seems resilient to be caged by a red-tainted hand.
And this disgusted resistance that my sanity-deprived brain imagines makes my cry return to a much grater intensity.
"Take me back, please!", I cry to the light.
And, though I knew even when shouting it that it will not receive any answer, the flash of white doubles in size, seemingly affected by my request, and a white palm grabs my hand.
And the light responds.
"Jesus, you've only been here three minutes and you already want out?"
And, Oh, God, the German's face is the most beautiful thing I could see after that vast red.
He rubs his neck nervously. "Let's go, okay? Last time I came down here I almost forgot how to smoke."
And I smile.
And I cry...
Emma, please don't let go of my brain...
...Don't allow me to forget you...
The world moans and the ear has already been intoxicated on it and it resists to any of my attempts to pry it free. The skin has merged with the rasping soil...
Memories drip from my nose and I'm bleeding out.
My vision is blear with the weakness that tortures a weak soul...and yet I can see clearly how my precious existence, recorded in whatever space was left after the saturation with self-hate, disappears into the ground, into the red soil that yearns it.
And the moan of a planet I don't fit on intensifies with each of my memories it receives .
I extend my palm and capture a drop of my existence;my throat releases the cry that has been torturing the tissue, bubbling like a drop of water in a desert, and my eyes shed their only protective sheet of tears, aware that the lacrimal glands will refuse to create another, knowing that my soul wastes their creations on something they are not fortified to resist to.
The drop of memory breaks in hundreds of tiny drops and falls between my digits, again being absorbed by the soil.
And though I try, I can't remember.
And the famished souls, every-present and studying, chant a malicious 'New blood,new tears, new one to feed us fears'.
And my cry revs up like an engine and my fingers extend to dig in the soil, trying terrified to pull with them a dead body.
I don't belong here!
And I rip my ear free from the soul-eating soil and my vision is bleary with tears and I see only red.
The color that Emma once despised now almost makes me puke.
It's too much red and not even a gleam of another color to give my soul some peace.
...And that's the only bit of memory that my brain has not lost. The unimportant fact that Emma doesn't like red.
A glimmer of white flashes across the sky and my arm extends to grab it, but it seems resilient to be caged by a red-tainted hand.
And this disgusted resistance that my sanity-deprived brain imagines makes my cry return to a much grater intensity.
"Take me back, please!", I cry to the light.
And, though I knew even when shouting it that it will not receive any answer, the flash of white doubles in size, seemingly affected by my request, and a white palm grabs my hand.
And the light responds.
"Jesus, you've only been here three minutes and you already want out?"
And, Oh, God, the German's face is the most beautiful thing I could see after that vast red.
He rubs his neck nervously. "Let's go, okay? Last time I came down here I almost forgot how to smoke."
And I smile.
And I cry...
Emma, please don't let go of my brain...
...Don't allow me to forget you...