Delivered from the blast
The last of a line of lasts
The pale princess of a palace cracked
And now the kingdom comes
Crashing down undone
And I am a master of a nothing place
Of recoil and grace
The sound is so familiar, this voice beneath the pain and the sadness. Like sleep, this voice rejects me. Last night I fell asleep at a more decent hour, but I find it hard to even close my eyes tonight. What depression have I found? How deep does this void go?
The world depresses me. The people who inhabit it depresses me. The people who I hold close to my heart have been hurt by my words or my lack of them.
I want to let people in, but I fear that things aren’t going to be the way they were before. I don’t like change. I don’t like things to fall apart in my hands. I like the bitter songs. The melancholy. I like the abandoned sense I feel. I must like it, otherwise I’d find my way out of this hole.
When I was a kid I thought I was Jesus Christ. When I was a kid, I was still foolish enough to hold false notions of life. When I was a kid, I had an imaginary friend I looked forward to meeting. When I was a kid, I had a dream with praying mantises crawling all over the floor, all over my body. I’m deathly afraid of them to this day. The praying mantis is my symbol of fear.
And in the mess of the green bugs, there stood a girl whose face was shrouded by her own red hair.