ticker

wounded here this spot inside of me lonely because alone because of lies or at least half truths that creep up suddenly and what do I have to complain about anyways I’ve never had anything to complain about really except of what I let people do to me it often comes down to that it seems as gestures of self-preservation but part of me doesn’t believe not this time not this case anyhow because it’s when you let the drama get the best of you but sometimes it gets the best of others and then they’re hard and mean and say mean things but again what right do you have to have it bother you because what do you have to complain about anyway but still wounded here and alone in this spot a weight that can be felt inside tangible and cavernous and I’m awaited to open my arms because mother love because I have nothing to complain about and inside is left unattended or expected to a dismissible side effect but I can’t open my arms because of this weight here this spot in my chest cavernous that sinks and draws me down and draws my arms down numb and unfeeling and so tired and weak they can’t hold anything the strength to smooth everything over and pretend tomorrow that nothing was said except for an after taste not in the mouth but the arms and chest where they remember the cavern where words resonate and drill the memory with time flowers falling over it in shapes of “I love you” and other such words like leaves over a pit in the ground a booby-trap where things get caught it’s so important to be careful why and when do people believe it’s OK to stop becoming daring and saying things that are wrong and daring to play that game because it seems that in such cases what’s most important is to win some game one I got to know before I became an expert at it I have too much experience and it sickens me by its stupidity and uselessness and its meanness that game which is who can better hurt the other or outwit them depending on your vocabulary who can get away with the most truths and who paralyses the other first by way of show of tears I’ve never done before not that way because I know it’s a sure way and too proud to play such a base card but sometimes they are not part of a ruse they just appear betraying you your feelings your pride because it feels so unfair but who am I to complain right I’ve always been self-centered melodramatic selfish like pennies falling down a well the words clatter down until you can’t hear them anymore or just a fait sound an echo but then other words get thrown down bigger ones because they always become bigger because the game is to see who can throw the biggest words down the other’s well who can make the loudest echoes block it maybe then cavernous feeling alone with echoes ringing but no sorry because it hurts to hurt one must feel sympathy it isn’t easy there are no real winners and the guilt is hard envelop me please but no sorry to be brushed aside swallowed tomorrow morning with the morning tea and so things go on quite well really until the next time counter on ticking maybe something will happen to change maybe something small will interfere or maybe next time it will be for a new reason like a boiling-point to be reached for steam to let out maybe it’s only that a cycle to endure and watch it coming and watch the words to avoid playing some stupid game and to avoid being hurt made to feel guilty because really what do I have to complain about anyway nothing of course just a word or two nothing really nothing