Everyone wants to stick their stethoscopes down my bloody throat, to crowd around and hear the flutter of my heart, a winged creature, fragile inside it's cage of fine china-ed bone... I'm selfish enough to think that.
I'm running on low battery, I'm exhausted by the flattery. I need out. I need to breathe.
I feel like a gambler on an all night run, addicted to the roll and rush of words, words, words, filling me, yet leaving me as empty as a dead bird's body.
The midnight hour strikes and everyone's jaws unhinge and words come crawling out of the dark regions of our hearts. They lay there in their shadows and scuttle over us in the loneliest hours of night. Eventually, the words take flight and the room reverberates with a swarm that leaves me feeling stripped of anything wholesome.
I thought I was a child of the light. Yet, when I looked inside myself I could no longer see anything, for the darkness had permeated every layer.
This is not me.
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