it was easy to imagine the inside of my mind like the twisted scrawl showing anger on the saturday morning cartoons
or spilled milk, drainage sewer, something clogged that should be shifting
but my distraction, for the longest time, was my peers. i would watch the corners of their(more) eyes when they pretended to smile, hear their whispers and watch them adjust their clothes, pull at their collars.
there was a point that i stopped feeling there, to be honest - more like a fly on the wall, and so i wasn't one of them: i was myself, and painfully so, and i didn't care
but sometimes i wish they'd look through a window and into my memories
if they could see themselves reflected in the eyes of others, maybe things would be different.
the worst things are not without
within your mind is
give or take
yes or no
stay or go
(more) secret desires
in the face
because the worst things are not without
People agitate me. Every movement I make, every word I say, will it be taken differently from what I mean by it? Oh, I hate the paranoia of judging eyes and judging tongues, gauging whatever slips from my lips with draconian criticisms. Yet all I want is for everyone to(more) be happier after seeing me today.
The marathon ends when I come home. No one watches me (except for my family, but they don't count), no one jumps to incorrect conclusions about me that I can't mend in a minute. My life's in my head - I don't know what my actions entail, but it doesn't matter at home. I can make squealing noises at whatever thoughts I have of baby orcas or OTPs. I don't think the house minds.(less)
i call her Beth.
She lives in my head and tells me to do stuff.
like swallowing the pills
or pulling the trigger
or climbing to the top of the highest building
(more) or the tallest bridge
and letting myself fall.
sometimes She whispers things about me.
like how i'm ugly
Sometimes She threatens to expose us
and take control
and tell everyone what's wrong with me
and i get scared
and stop whatever i'm doing
because even though i'm not sure if She could
i don't want that to happen.
Sometimes She prompts me to do things
i don't want to do those things
and i'm scared i will
it makes me nervous
so i try to stay away from others.
She's been with me for years
i think about what She's said
and what She's prompting me to do
and i've realized
She just wants me to die
that if i die, She dies
and She knows that
She must know that
so i think
and i happen to be the container
that's holding her
to a life She can't leave(less)
these parasitic thoughts that consume me infiltrate my head and i can't stop that. and you try to suck the demons out of my soul and you can't. they've been here a long time, before you even knew me, before you even knew of the idea of me.
It had startled her the first time it happened. She had been sitting on her couch in the living room. She knew she was alone, had double locked the front door of her apartment. So when she suddenly heard footsteps in her kitchen she jumped with alarm.
(more) Tina was not a girl to panic in an emergency. She picked up the knife she had been using for her dinner, grabbed her phone with the other hand, and walked across the living room. She burst into the kitchen, only to laugh when it was completely empty. She scolded herself for being overly paranoid. But it was odd; she would've sworn that someone was in the kitchen.
It happened several times after that. Tina assumed that her upstairs neighbors were the ones making the sound. It must just drift down oddly. Old building and all that.
Oddly enough she never heard it when she was in the kitchen. It was only as she left the room that the sounds would appear.
There was one evening when it was going on even more loudly than normal. It continued late into the night. Damn neighbors, Tina thought. She resolved to talk to them in the morning about moving about more quietly.
She went up there before work and knocked politely. No answer. She knocked again. A neighbor on her way to work walked by. "There's nobody there," she said. "Those tenants moved out last spring. They haven't filled it yet."
She told her friend about it. The strange noises with no cause. "It's all in your head," her friend said confidently. "Living alone for so long? You're bound to hear things"
Tina didn't think living alone was driving her crazy. Lots of people lived alone. But what else could it be? (less)
in your head
it must be perfectly ok
to whisper words of love
and songs of forever
and leave the next day
(more) in your world
it must be commonplace
to hold someone in your embrace
and clutch them upright
and disappear as if they were nothing
in your mind
must be a beautiful place to exist
with no consequences
where love and dependency
mean sudden abandonment
they ask me why i cannot trust
and i tell them i do not live in your world(less)
"rue the days you lead me on!"
i screamed, intent to have you gone
"i'll ne'er allow you free from me-"
but creep inside your mind to be
identical to your own pull;
(more) keep one eye open nights in bed,
for i'll be waiting in your head(less)
Your head is a wonderful place to retreat to, a wonderful place to relax and calm yourself. You can be in control there, regardless of what's happening outside of you. You can imagine cool, clear waves crashing onto the warm sands of a pristine beach. You can imagine sliding(more) into a hot bath, or enjoying a glass of fine wine. Your head is where you can be safe, even if the world around is dark, scary, intimidating...
He hated being in his head.
The world outside of him was bright, full of people, sterilized and monitored, his ears filled with machines beeping and a rhythmic whirring from the artificial lung that kept him alive.
He'd been in his head for months now. And he was utterly aware. He just couldn't do a damn thing about it.
He played games with himself-- move a finger. Concentrate on it. Make it so using the power of your mind.
It never quite worked, he didn't think. Or, if it did, no one noticed.
Truth be told, his mind wasn't a terrible place to be, by and large.
He could amuse himself and put most of his worries aside, now. That had been hard at first.
It got hard again when he started overhearing words like, 'unplug him' and 'no signs of recovery'.
He played the move your fingers game more frequently, with mounting panic and tension. But his heart rate barely fluctuated, and his lungs kept pumping to the perfect timing of the machine. Until they didn't anymore. Until they pulled the plug. And then it was only him, and all he could think of was the heavy, oppressive pressure of being trapped in your head. (less)
So what's in your head?, said the shrink in a tone that felt like he didn't want to be there.
The patient stared. His eyes were deep wells of emotion and he knew he could penetrate the shrink's essence in seconds if he desired. He was only here because they(more) had made him go. What the fuck type of question is that? the patient asked.
I want you to just tell me what's in your head, please. Said the shrink; he sounded like a robot now, reading scripted lines.
Fine, thought the patient. I'll tell you, he said. What's in my head is the animalistic nature of your death. You sit in your little chair, reading off scripted lines for the audience, "helping" (he put his fingers up to make quotations) poor souls like me travel through this life. But when it comes down to it doc, at the end of the day, you just sat in a chair and marked some notes down. You didn't see the true world.
What's the true world?
The true world is the world of spirits, the world beyond men, the world where your suit is burned until only your soul remains. The world of dreams, where what you see is what there is. Empty your soul into it and you too can shed that tie and suit schtick.
In the true world, there are demons - power, greed, glutton, malice, most of all human weakness - the weak, pitiful willingness to sacrifice values for survival of the body. In the true world, there are dragons, great beings who have lived longer than 10 of our generations - accumulating knowledge, staying hidden, and protecting the Earth.
In the true world, you die doc. In the true world, what we do matters. Welcome.(less)
Of all the things on Earth, your mind is the one thing you can never escape from. Like a swallow trapped in a cage, it remains in your head throughout life and death. It is your constant companion. Who needs friends, or family, or acquaintances of any type for(more) that matter, when you have your mind to rely on? It was with this thought that I'd taken flight, quite literally, on a plane to God knows where.
On the first night, I'd sat smoking on a park bench, my bags piled beside me. I was lonely yet jubilant. Solitude and happiness were much the same thing, or so I had thought.
As the weeks crept by, the leaves fell from the trees; the snow fell from the heavens and I fell victim to the greatest torment anyone could ever face. I had woke, one bitter evening, bewildered and irrepressible, my fists flailing. With no target for my violence in the empty park, I took my wrath to the street, aiming my punches at the wall. I hollered and cursed, my shouts amplified by the emptiness of my surroundings.
Sometime later, I sat in the back of the car, my bleeding hand in cuffs. They asked for my name. I'm an honest man, I would have told them if I'd have known, but it seemed that my final friend and my only companion had abandoned me. I tried to gather my thoughts, only to find that each one slipped away, like sand filtering through one's fingers. No longer human, I had nothing more to live for. I had achieved the impossible, and escaped my own mind. (less)